Sepia colored dead lives
whose names of partners
have been forgotten
on the dance card ...
Elegant hussars shall no longer
find repose upon the battlefield
of love ...
And you,austere princesses ,
leading with dignity
the solemn funeral procession
of the deceased empire ...
Walking down along
the grey Danube banks ,
I meet a little starving street painter
with a Bohemian appearance .
I cast three pence to this unfortunate artist
and I take my leave with a geometry
werhein his dreams are enshrined ...
And then I immerse it in the murky waters
of the history...
I had not an appointment with Rembrandt.
Perhaps that was a Mondrian\'s cubist avatar ?
Where has that damn dream-traveling machine
drove me again ?
My soul wanders through an universe
of postcards ...
I got confused for the winter time change...
I wanted to meet Kafka in Prague
at the \'\'Café des philosophes \'\' .
On the \'\' Pont charles \'\' I would have given
some charity to an old jew ,playing
a whiny violin to nourish his progeny
and proffering a donation unto the Golem...
The \'\' café des philosophes \'\' no longer exists.
It was replaced by the people\'s house
where the little grandad comes to serve the soup !
I would seek to arrange a date
with my sweet Beata in Warsaw .
We shall partake of a warm mulled cinamon wine
at the christmas market ...
But won\'t she be in someone else\'s arms ?
and then a bit dazed ,
somewhat befuddled in my mind
I will return to Berlin on the midnight express.
Around the central station ,a pretty heroin lady
will say \'\' I love you ! \'\' to me !
I would write a regret on the blank page
of her dance card...
Please note that a Viennese gentleman
never misses the new year concert
regardless of the conductor ...