I Keep Drawing What

 
Some questions:


Who are you?
What are you doing, awake all night?
Under the black-inked pen, on white paper's ground,
what are you drawing so intently?


Crumpled papers pile on the floor,
half-open books dangle from the shelf,
your breathing pierces the night's silence,
creating wave after wave…


An unknown path lies ahead, accompanied by the clock's relentless tick-tick—
together they weave an enchanting tune,
the white paper's ground fills up—
with seas, mountains, forests, villages…
Tell me, what becomes of all this for you?


Some answers:


I draw the world, my world.
I draw the melancholy of daily life
and the fatigue of sleepless nights.


With dawn's beauty-adorned offerings
I go on drawing my world…
These things are entirely my own,
where certain longed-for people come as guests.


Sleep breaks in unseen dreams with endless streams,
no savage beast or human can become
a resident of my world.
There, on soft carpets of grass,
only peaceful deer come to play.


All night long, staying awake,
I draw on white paper's ground, I create
just such a world
that is mine alone!