His tired gaze — from passing endless bars —
has turned into a vacant stare which nothing holds.
To him there seem to be a thousand bars,
and out beyond these bars exists no world.
His supple gait, the smoothness of strong strides,
that gently turn in ever smaller circles,
perform a dance of strength, centered deep within,
a will, stunned, but untamed, indomitable.
But sometimes the curtains of his eyelids part,
the pupils of his eyes dilate as images
of past encounters enter while through his limbs –
a tension strains in silence only to cease to be, to die within his heart.
Rainer Maria Rilke, 6.11.1902, Paris