When you go to work
early in the morning
when you stand in the station
with all your troubles:
the city shows you
asphalt-smooth
in a funnel of people
a million faces:
Two strange eyes, a quick glance,
the brows, the pupils, the lids –
What was that? Your happiness, perhaps…
gone, passed, no more.
All your life you walk
on a thousand streets;
you see on your way,
those who forgot you.
An eye winks,
the soul rings;
you found it,
only seconds long…
Two strange eyes, a quick glance,
the brows, the pupils, the lids –
What was that? No one turns back the time…
gone, passed, no more.
You’re obliged on your way
to wander through cities;
you see for a pulsebeat
the unknown other.
It could be a fiend,
it could be a friend,
or could in the struggle
offer a hand.
A looking over
then passing by…
Two strange eyes, a quick glance,
the brows, the pupils, the lids –
What was that? A piece of grand humanity!
Gone, passed, no more.
-Kurt Tucholsky-
