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MY OWN JAIL” BY PETER HORN
MY OWN JAIL” BY PETER HORN • To Horst Kleinschmidt I have painted my walls white, I have bricked in my windows, To lock out fear and contact. The radio and the telephone Have been silenced, But the stubborn birds Go on making a noise. I enjoy The pleasures of being cut off From the obscene flowering Of trees and shrubs, I am privileged to be lonely with my withering truth, I avoid meeting people in the jungle of meaning, I exult over the triumph of being separated. From time to time I scream at my white walls. My body is white, My language is white, My soul is white: I will not let my whiteness disappear Through the machine gun slits.
MY OWN JAIL” BY PETER HORN To Horst Kleinschmidt I have painted my walls white, I have bricked in my windows, To lock out fear and contact. The radio and the telephone Have been silenced, But the stubborn birds Go on making a noise. I enjoy The pleasures of being cut off From the obscene flowering Of trees and shrubs, I am privileged to be lonely with my withering truth, I avoid meeting people in the jungle of meaning, I exult over the triumph of being separated. From time to time I scream at my white walls. My body is white, My language is white, My soul is white: I will not let my whiteness disappear Through the machine gun slits.