The steward of my fortress
Informs me: ‘O my Master,
You have had enough
Of meat, wine and sleep.
Truly, you’re the master
Of that mortal affliction a body:
Like mercury, your soul
Slips through your hands.
The roots of all desires
Have shrivelled up, their water
Has run dry – the sand
Is unyielding. Master,
you have had enough.’
The time of sand is infinite.
Endless!
Infinite is the sand.
It runs out now
With no letting up,
No pause to see
or to breathe.
No space at all,
O steward of my fortress.