Jailer

Every season has its turn.
They come, come, come, it’s so stern.
It kills me it’s always the same.
They never change their order.
They don’t ask my permission.

Every season tortures me.
They come, come, come, no mercy.
I’m ground, ground, and ground
like a merry-go-round
by this unceasing energy –

keeping me on path. Broken
on the wheel so forsaken
- more and more dead more alive –
I keep spinning around
with them in the depth of time.

(Translated by: N. Ullrich Katalin)