Today the world gets on my nerves.
People are overstrained
like buds on a cherry tree.
If I write down that I am alone
I mean that. I illustrate bad poem
with music between my fingers.
All of a sudden the world is ok.
The slush was gone through the night
and sparrows are having breakfast.
I want another postcard
with short text about how it is
with other people in other towns.
Translated by Ana Pepelnik