I walk through the village
The sun shines, the wind blows
a little through my hair
The shutters are closed
with chinks thin as needles
with long narrow eyes
My shadow doesn't fall inside
anywhere, there are none
in the dim rooms
where the light drearily
obscures what is going on
and what the consequences are
of everyone's comings and goings
The peeping people press me
as compelling devils
out of their eyes
out of the chinks in their lives
The sun upon me is insufferable
"L'enfer, c'est les Autres" ("Hell is Other people"), from the one-act play "Huis clos" ("Closed doors", 1943, Jean-Paul Sartre)
Collection "PumicePieces"
