Mastermind
It seems clear that all is gone, All in all and one by one, Yet pretending it doesn’t matter Greeting with a smile all kind Seems considerably better, Never mind!…
The voice grows gray Metallic sound Recalling souls nowhere found, Souls that vanished as if dead And the skies are full with lead…
Still, who needs all this and why, After all is said and done, Unless in skies you see her glide, The heaven’s herald – smiling bride, Unless you see her free and bright?
Hence lifting head (but not in haste For there is plenty hope to waste) I find and greet her smile Up high Thriving brightly in the sky.
Heavens, wait! I know now better: Not all is gone, Not mind, nor matter And the lead of heavy skies Dissipates, dissolves, and dies.
Existentialism or FOUR languages in ONE body
I play, I play my own self while I myself consist, oh my, of four entirely different sorts of I.
Each one of them, I feel, tries crawling out of me and I myself alone, alone by myself, try on all four to follow, to crawl after them all.
But they, oh my, they try to play me from head to toe. Each one with his own string and bow, with his own baton, as if I were an entire ensemble, my juices they draw till I fumble, but they shout: GO ON, GO ON, it will all work out: SPOT ON!
And each one dishes out his own partiture with his own decorations, sets up his furniture. Each one demands with anticipation of me to dance to all HIS tunes evermore and better! For more ovations than before!
Until I protest: How long can one keep score?
Then amid all the riot for a brief while they all shut up, keep quiet … and I? I start yet again to play my own self by myself assured and calm, and all alone as the proverbially lone stone.