When I stop asking.

When the mountains rise
above the never ending call
and silence unfolds
like a balustrade of stone

When words no longer
warps and winds

When the air is a cloudy city
and the doors are narrowing

When the smoke respires
in a grey facade

Then, when I ask no more.

By swedish poet
Petter Bergman
(1934-1986)

Translation: jeh