There is a world that no-one can reach, understand nor feel
Hidden in my brown hand that I have outgrown long ago
Under fingers pointing towards the sky
Behind the iron bars, it's only inhabitant lives
Shielded from life
And pacified by the threat of the fist
He stands frozen with his hands around the bars
And a smile full of desperation
A frown that does nothing but make him more two-dimensional
Than his life has made him even now
Able to look out of his prison
At a world he doesn't know to appreciate
Always changing, but with an odd repetition
Dictated by the circular metronome of the globe
And I raise my hand and observe the palm
And right behind the life-line I sense his breathing
From yesterday's lunch box
Once again I lower my hand
And move on
One dimension higher than he will ever reach
While he is still standing
Perpetuated behind glass and frame
In the timeless kindergarten
As I leave, I put my hand in my pocket
In order to muffle the shouts of the prisoner
The first victim of my shallow sport
