THE FINAL ACT

 The last season of winter is coming. A frosty sob ripens to maturity in a clean, vacuum: the Winter tears its bridesmaid, its Duna in flakes! From the captivity of the hollows, the sleeper is now waking up. The Earth is spinning, like a ball in the hands of children with holes in the ground, besieging the heavens. A disappointing betrayal pulls me back and pulls me back into the grim present…

 But I still know, I can't believe when and how? - Physical pain tortures me, and the blood flow of my organs is eaten up by a murderous disease! Suddenly I am afraid of reality-blessed with animal hair myself, like Enkidu, and as a prisoner in prison, I cling to my own doubt, and everywhere disillusionment comes to me as a skinned guest! Am I, perhaps, late for life, and I do not know whether it is out there that blinds me more and more and I can only grope or the failure that reaches me universally everywhere?

 On the eyelids stuck together, there are moping tears, the steady, measured ticking helps me to calm down – it shakes my heartbeat, if I know that my lived minutes have not been in vain! The gentle beast of insomnia, still remaining a few hours of the night, haunts me like a leech to suck out the rampant blood, and it is still possible to hope for survival, only the method must be found for sure!

Order, morals, and cleanliness in my tiny room are reborn in processes when I clean, wash, or cook: if I know and feel that I am in my place that day! This is how the murderous silence, the shallow, barely audible bird chirping, creeps toward spring! - I look towards a neat emptiness through the milk-glasses of Windows:

 I am voicing my voiceless sorrow on a pile of papers!