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urdu poetry

das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
jenseits schauen
königliches Fest war erfolgt
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
von Fußboden zu Decke
ich sagte
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
eins nach dem anderen wie verläßt von einem Baum

 



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