From The Top Of The Stairs

Of course

those who are standing at the top of the stairs 

know 

they know everything

with us it's different

sweepers of squares

hostages of a better future

those at the top of the stairs

appear to us rarely

with a hushing finger always at the mouth

we are patient

our wives darn the sunday shirts

we talk of food rations

soccer prices of shoes

while on saturday we tilt the head backward 

and drink

we aren't those

who clench their fists

brandish chains

talk and ask questions

in a fever of excitement

urging to rebel

incessantly talking and asking questions

here is their fairy tale -

we will dash at the stairs

and capture them by storm

the heads of those who were standing at the top 

will roll down the stairs 

and at last we will gaze 

at what can be seen from those heights 

what future 

what emptiness

we don't desire the view

of rolling heads

we know how easily heads grow back

and at the top there will always remain

one or three

while at the bottom it is black from brooms and shovels

sometimes we dream

those at the top of the stairs

come down

that is to us

and as we are chewing bread over the newspaper 

they say

- now let's talk

man to man

what the posters shout out isn't true 

we carry the truth in tightly locked lips

it is cruel and much too heavy 

so we bear the burden by ourselves 

we aren't happy 

we would gladly stay 

here

these are dreams of course 

they can come true 

or not come true 

so we will 

continue to cultivate 

our square of dirt 

square of stone

with a light head

a cigarette behind the ear

and not a drop of hope in the heart