I'm not coming for seeing.
What everybody is coming to see.
From lakes of tears I didn't have seen anything in the first evening.
I'm not coming for spending the riviera yachting and cordiera long holidays.
I will not pitch my tent in the hauteur. From the faraway glaciers I will not see anything.
If it's raining. While a train is speeding.
In the shadow.
At the edge of lakes of tears. In the evening
when I arrived.
From the arrival time.
From my rain color eyes.
I see the World through his fog.
The big tourism with bad flash light.
It bad light the way.
In a singular lighting.
I am sad.
That's why.
Because perhaps it isn't raining. I'm fabulating. Dull mood.
Sulky glows.
The slow train with faded colors.
The insipid lights of unknown stations.
Why am I here?
I couldn't tell it.
If I will. It will be useless.
Could you understand it?
You will not believe me. Even if I would tell it.
Therefore I don't tell.
