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.: Peter Handke, from Lied vom Kindsein, in "Wings of Desire" :.

“When the child was a child,
he went with his arms hanging down.
He wanted the brook to be a river,
the river a stream,
and this puddle the sea.

When the child was a child,
he did not know he was a child.
For him, everything had a soul,
and all souls were one.

When the child was a child,
he had no opinion on anything.
He had no habits.
He often sat cross-legged,
and all of a sudden he would slip away.
He had a whirl among his hair,
and he didn’t make faces like a photographer.

When the child was a child,
it was the time of these questions:
Why am I me, and why aren’t you you?
Why am I here, and why am I not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun perhaps just a dream?
Is it not merely the appearance of a world before a world,
what I see, feel, and smell?
Is there really evil?
And truly evil people?
How can it be that I, who am I,
was not there before I became?
And that one day I, who am I,
will no longer be who I am?

When the child was a child,
he could not swallow spinach, peas, rice pudding,
boiled cauliflower,
and now he eats everything, not just out of necessity.

When the child was a child,
he once woke up in a strange bed,
and now it happens to him all the time,
many men appeared beautiful to him,
and now only in rare cases,
he clearly imagined a paradise,
and now he can at best sense it,
he could not imagine nothing,
and today he shivers at the thought of it.

When the child was a child
he played with enthusiasm
and now he is as absorbed in something as he was then
only if that something is his work.

When the child was a child,
he needed only bread and apple for nourishment,
and it’s still like that.

When the child was a child,
the berries fell into his hands,
as only berries know how to fall.
And it’s still like that.
Fresh nuts scraped his tongue,
and it’s still like that.
At every mountain, he felt nostalgia for an even higher mountain,
and in every city he felt nostalgia for an even larger city.
And this, is still like that.
At the top of a tree,
he picked cherries all euphoric,
just as he still does today.
He was fearful in front of every stranger,
and continues to be.
He awaited the first snow,
and continues to wait for it.

When the child was a child,
he threw a stick against the tree as if it were a spear.
And he still continues to vibrate.”

PERFECT DAY - Lou Reed (e Wim Wenders)