After You

What will my life become after you?
A string of days among your strangers?
A string of nights among my strangers
in the first den of vice I stumble to?

Or will it be no more than an empty stare
through the narrow window of my home?
Locked in of my own free will, alone,
will I wait in vain for dawn to bring me sleep?

Will there be a meeting somewhere? By chance.
You’ll recognise me and walk on,
you’ll pass with sincere nonchalance
and not let fall a single sound.

Silence and memories in the hands.
A hollow smile in the dry eyes.
The words and colours, different,
soak into different souls.

“Normal”? “Everything goes on…”
And what did I expect from Phoebus, then?
We’ll only blink and will have forgotten
that there was, they said, no life after you.