The roaming river
Is now a pond, tomorrow
Is deserting us
when did the miracle
turn into a mirror filled with cracks?
when did the rising angel
turn into an awful doll made of wax?
when did the crowd of smiling faces
wear painted masks with malicious grins?
when did the neighbors no longer greet
and stop looking out for each other’s bins?
where is the nostalgia for the fresh green grass,
that place back then that once was called home?
where have all the people gone, where are they ?
are they the hollow bones who now freely roam?
when did their souls leave their bodies?
are they in heaven or hell or still here on this earth?
who is that lurking behind the hollowed-out oak tree?
stranger stalking, a reckless era given birth?
it’s become a great puzzle, this razzle and this dazzle.
join the new world order if you can survive the spinning frazzle!
Illustration showing Niels Klim with the tree-people of Potu, from the 1845 English edition of Niels Klim’s Journey Under the Ground