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In a foreign city with an incomprehensible language you are walking along unfamiliar streets; not even the water of the river which flows under the stone arch of

Who keeps the rock on track? who mows the grass? who closed for us the places on the other side of the road? Those who ate with spoons,

Walking upon the earth All alone by myself, I swing up my black walking cane And make a heavy thrust At the hard cold crust of the earth,

Leave me my own world that very small world of mine so fragile, so frail   Poem by Germain Droogenbroodt – Drawing by Satish Gupta From: “Dewdrops”, 100

In my deepest dreams, the earth cries blood Stars smile in my eyes When people come to me with multi-colored questions I answer go to Socrates The past

Centuries later they will find when of a society which has consumed itself only the remains will be left of the small Pharaoh inside a broken refrigerator, buried

Forest, a wild hare, a deer sticks its head up, in the shadow meditates a deer, acorns become brown, and between the fingers, slips dark time. * A

Meeting poets I am disconcerted sometimes by the colour of their socks the suspicion of a wig the wasp in the voice and an air, sometimes, of dankness.

Oh flower of Time Paul Celan The morning star befuddled by dark sources reflects for a moment in the morning’s red then disappears with the faded dreams of

Citizen Cane Long was every day and the snow the light of my soft sky and the cold the blood of my ardent skin and the game the