My case is vitally important

I already have a thick file
full of possibilities and side issues
interrogation after interrogation

sentence by sentence
in the clerk's calligraphy:
completely my own story

Because, if there is any indictment
then I have pronounced it myself
Plenty of time to think about it

in my cell, with sometimes a trip
to the torture chamber, to watch
others being helped

to remember all their lives
and to conjure up guilt
out of trivial events

I do what I can, I immediately gave
away my best possessions
to the guards - Yes, of course

if you wish, we accept it
then you don't have to
blame yourself -

I praise their expertise, request them
to report my cooperation
and I really don't feel too important

to ask the fleas
in their winter coat
to intercede

It's already dark, the time when it's quiet
in the street. Two hat-men come
to fetch me. They take me on both sides
and carry me stiff away
across the last bridge
the trembling water

Outside the city, we rest panting
at the abandoned quarry
They wipe the hatbrim-sweat
help me take off my coat, vest and shirt
in the pale moonlight
and carefully fold my clothes

I walk up and down until they beckon
and point me where to lie down
in the pit. They wrench my back
in the sharp stones
Back and forth they reach
the knife. My bare neck is long

In the silhouette of a house
in the sky, a window swings
open with a flicker
Two arms stretch wide
and I wonder where
the judge is whom I have never seen

My fault is a fact. I don't know
it yet, that is really a matter

of time, of reading in the mirror
what, for everyone, is written

on my face - The process is just
beginning, the bell hasn't even rung

Even before my arrest, oddly enough
I already guessed, suspected, something

of the secret of my life
and as I saw the silent spectators

watching me with bated breath, ready
to spread the news

I was still hopeful, but
no longer doubting the truth

of the slander against me
I must keep calm and conform

above all, not attract attention, not
involve my family in my fate

They are not allowed to take sides
They must sit exaltedly
In black robes, stern
The high judges

This is how the old Titorelli
immortalized them in his paintings
fully compliant with the instructions
and the imagination of the people

But no one ever sees them
They shield themselves
With guards and clerks
They keep their sessions secret

upstairs in the attic rooms
on an old horse blanket
over the torn seat
of their kitchen chair

They have deaf ears
for the pleaders and order
the court ushers to encourage
the suspects in the corridors