Of course 
those who are standing at the top of the stairs 
know 
they know everything 

with us it's different 
sweepers of squares 
hostages of a better future 
those at the top of the stairs 
appear to us rarely 
with a hushing finger always at the mouth 

we are patient 
our wives darn the sunday shirts 
we talk of food rations 
soccer prices of shoes 
while on saturday we tilt the head backward 
and drink 

we aren't those 
who clench their fists 
brandish chains 
talk and ask questions 
in a fever of excitement 
urging to rebel 
incessantly talking and asking questions 

here is their fairy tale - 
we will dash at the stairs 
and capture them by storm 
the heads of those who were standing at the top 
will roll down the stairs 
and at last we will gaze 
at what can be seen from those heights 
what future 
what emptiness 

we don't desire the view 
of rolling heads 
we know how easily heads grow back 
and at the top there will always remain 
one or three 
while at the bottom it is black from brooms and shovels 

sometimes we dream 
those at the top of the stairs 
come down 
that is to us 
and as we are chewing bread over the newspaper 
they say 

- now let's talk 
man to man 
what the posters shout out isn't true 
we carry the truth in tightly locked lips 
it is cruel and much too heavy 
so we bear the burden by ourselves 
we aren't happy 
we would gladly stay 
here

these are dreams of course 
they can come true 
or not come true 
so we will 
continue to cultivate 
our square of dirt 
square of stone 

with a light head 
a cigarette behind the ear 
and not a drop of hope in the heart