| There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for certain, whether it was | 
| part of a lonely isle, or merely some coastal region. | 
| A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully into the waves, | 
| and for one moment I did wonder, what frightening purpose it might serve. | 
| O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this rage entomb? | 
| Have ancient memories or hungry ghosts, gathered all their strength, | 
| to call for this storm? | 
| Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by ruins and rocks ivy-clad, | 
| perhaps this strange place had once been a palace, where now viole (n)t bushes | 
| bear dark thorns instead. | 
| A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he was leading me down | 
| below the gardens, which I hardly remembered, the moment I took the first step | 
| underground. | 
| We came to a room with only small windows, and to my suprise I could somehow | 
| still hear, though reduced to a murmur, now chant-like and humming, | 
| to once savage voice of the roaring sea. | 
| The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb, below the ground, | 
| where there"s no sound, he is hiding, from the world. | 
| Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret overshadow | 
| ed structure and use, underneath, in inanimate self-contemplation, | 
| lay a jet-black mass of coal-like granules. | 
| Yet, this dark material had an unearthly lightness, and when I touched it, | 
| to feel what it was, it did seem to totally ignore my presence … | 
| -without leaving a trace, it came trickling off. | 
| Then out of a sudden from under the barrow something, appeared, unexpectedly: | 
| it was the bones of the little boy"s mother, which he had placed with greatest | 
| care underneath | 
| There must have been something in my look (s), «cause the little boy started to | 
| speak, and to my unvoiced Question of why he had done this, he answered these | 
| words to me: | 
| «This is the only way I can be save from her, only this can guarantee, | 
| that she will not rise again, because when she does, she is always following | 
| me. | 
| There"s just no alternative, I cannot escape from her, because as soon as I try, | 
| she will get up again, merely to haunt me…-oh, believe me, I have tried | 
| numerous times! | 
| But here in these vaults I have finally found something that works like a seal, | 
| these jet-black granules do keep me from harm, and her bones can no longer | 
| hurt me. | 
| Piled up in a certain, specific form, all the remains must be covered with it, | 
| then everything keeps still and for a brief moment I can pretend, | 
| that she does not exist. | 
| Yet, all the time I must be on my guards, because now and then it can happen | 
| indeed, that frequently the earth does tremble and shaken, and some of the | 
| stones are Starting to slip. | 
| So, constantly I have to control the barrow, the jet-black darkness of the | 
| coal-like mass, in order to be there, to repair the damage, to pile all back | 
| safely and to replace…" | 
| The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb. | 
| below the ground, | 
| where there"s no sound, he is hiding from the (terrible) world. | 
| It took me a while to realism that we all have secrets and fears … | 
| — is it then a surprise that we close our minds from the pain that is causing | 
| these tears? |