And the whole day wasted, thrown away
on thinking what else could be done here
in order to do nothing.

Imaginary thirsts imaginary hungers
a few inflated daydreams about greatness
a few inflated daydreams about meekness.

Now evening setting free of obligations the feeling
that nothing has been done and this velvet
voice: better that you did nothing

than if you had done something

evil.

Translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones