We are all on a homeless rambling,
one sole group of siblings.
Naked we walk clad in shreds with our bundles,
but what do the lords own compared to us?
Through the air treasures stream to meet us
which cannot be measured by the weight of gold.
The older we get
the more we know that we’re siblings.
We have nothing to do with the rest of creation
except offering it our souls.
Had I a large garden
I would invite in my siblings.
Each and every one should carry with them a great treasure.
When we have no homeland we could become a people.
We could make a grating around our garden
so that no sound from the world would reach us.
From our silent garden
we could give the world new life.