My friend, you want to tell me that you know me,
look at my room: you will not find ornaments
there that I had chosen myself; open my closet:
no characteristic items there.
My beloved and my dog, they both know my caresses
but don’t know me. My worthless musical instrument
is used to the hills and dales of my hand
but cannot tell about me either.
Yet, I am not hiding – I just don't really exist.
I act and suffer like everybody else,
but my deepest existence is nonexistence.
My friend, I do not have secrets.
I am transparent like glass – and for this reason
how can you imagine that you can see me?
Translated by: Maria Bencsath