We await tomorrow.
What is tomorrow?
And who will we be tomorrow?

I left my dream behind
Sitting by the roadside.
In farewell I said:
Wait for me, I’ll come back soon.

Then, the next morning, I kissed my mother’s dark forehead
To say good-bye to her:
I won’t be late, mother.
I’ll be back in the evening.

And for my friend, the martyr,
I left a message on wrinkled paper.
He had fallen years before,
Yet I invited him to come soon for a supper
That will never take place again.

And so my lover continues to watch
The wandering stars through the narrow window of her room
And waits for her telephone to smile,
Waits for the ringing that gives her hope:
I am here.
We’ll meet soon.

But I have stayed.
I am still there.
I have not moved an inch.
I am here, thinking of you, in the bright light of day.