LXXXII
SOLITUDE

Poor soul, you who travel alone
through the sands of the desert,
carrying on your back those lonely
sorrows which lack the brilliant glow

of martyrdom! Wave after wave of
the hot sirocco washes over you,
and the crass multitude of hyenas
finally violates your peace of mind.

Life is solitude; you are born alone
and you die alone; alone under the ground
you will hear from above the sad complaint

of another soul wandering alone in the desert;
so you came alone to the valley of pain
only to have your solitude turn out to be war.