For More

Hunger, vague and dull, settles in my life,
and if there were more to eat,
I would eat again.

I have not the will to reach out my hands
for more.
I have not the will to decide
to reach out my hands.

I am empty inside, and I want to be full.
I want to be dull; I want to be sated.

The more I consume, the less I am satisfied.
The more desperately I search,
the less pleasurable the finding.

It is the same, to eat or to starve.
It is the same, to sit or to stand,
to speak or to be silent,
to sleep or to live.

I can neither reach out my hands
nor withdraw them.