Today I am proud of my time
and pained to fritter it away.

I'm doing nothing, don't sew or iron.
I hurry, going up and down
a street ten times.
I study people's gazes, lost in being so fixed,
stop at shops and see the fashions,
the tones of green and blue.
I am haunted by abstract painters
speaking like the mute.
I look at hands, at mine and all of yours;
avidly going to the news-stands,
seeking books and names. Especially names!
I ignore the press that is braying out its lies
- when the truth is always evident
and pure as giving birth!
I'm in a hurry,
get to the sea that will bear me far away.
But it's false, it's false,
for the miracles are over.

I go back home with firmer step,
to my life of every day.

Translated by Julie Wark