by Ingeborg Bachmann

Ingeborg Bachmann

I can't see any trees in the trees anymore.
The branches don't have the leaves to hold them in the wind.
The fruits are sweet but without love.
They don't even fill you up.
What is going to happen?
Before my eyes the forest flees,
in front of my ear the birds shut their mouths,
for me no meadow becomes a bed.
I'm fed up ahead of time
and hunger for her.
What is going to happen?

The fires will burn on the mountains at night.
Should I set out, approach everything again?

I can't see a way in any way anymore.

Last updated October 31, 2022