A Song of Yesterday
This or that, it’s all the same anyway
I don’t know where you are now
and where your home will be tomorrow
Maybe I’ll pass you like a stranger
head bent toward the earth
And could be that in the tummult
I will not recognize your face
with my short sighted eyes.
The street will part us like comb in hair
with curses, screams and beggars prayers
with children’s prams accompanied by baskets
and you will have no idea
that through the jungle of stone walls
our steps called out to each other,
like melancholy birds.
Yet together with dust and wind
I will bring home
in the folds of my dress
which unknowingly hit my heart
between sweat, and benzine, perfumes and silk,
like the idea of spring in winter.
This will not change my life
it will all be as it was,
But my head will bend a little lower
and give the slavelike day
another tear to carry
And nothing more –
and at night I’ll pursue every word
and every smile anew,
though all is now hopeless anyhow.