Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood - and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

If suddenly you do not exist, If suddenly you are not living, I shall go on living. I do not dare, I do not dare to write it, if you die. I shall go on living.

Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter.

You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.

A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.

Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands.