I want to go to the underworld
but I'm stuck in this dark depot
still the servant who pours the wine

No chance, that someone will drop the vase
and take the loss: sweep up the fragments
as irreparable for the rubbish dump

so that at last my spirit can be a shadow
among the shadows, in silence
equals among each other

everyone keeps quiet, the stories of heroic
deeds no longer matter
neither my past, the loss

of the battle, of my weapons
and my honour, enslaved
my wife also taken away

undressed on display and
sold for the household
and sexual services

I too had to pose naked
for the famous pot painter
who robbed me of my soul