Colours are drab,

they have been dimmed

by the veil of the night.

Only the unnatural brightness

of the traffic light

hits the eyes.

The street is empty,

sounds are deadened.

In my room the light of the lamp

splits the dark reflecting

the shadow of my body on the desk.

Expressionist poem

In this ordinary night

of dull colours and muffled sounds,

I share my emotions with my shadow

reflected on the desk by the lamp.

The sheets of my thoughts

are watermarked by a deep quiteness

that comes from the awareness

of being myself again.