At the airport, never so many people
passed by so many other people
without knowing them: that's the Nothing,
richly and elegantly dressed,
at robbery prices, but "tax free":
never the Great Nothing dressed up better,
and bites its own tail like a cat,
but a bad one, of those which scratch you.
in vain you'll look around for a soul,
you can bustle as much as you want,
but you won't find it either among things,
or among people. Here there's no mother,
here there's no father, spouse or sons,
the lack of love bursts one's ears
more than the jets' roar at their takeoff:
zeus is thundering from left, not a good sign.
hope only that there, where you are going,
you'll be able to find again a bit of it!