THE LOVE

 

This soldier sees the souls who, before drinking

water from the River of Oblivion, choose their

destiny but among them is he, too, his “Ego”

who would decide to be the most modest and

the most anonymous of the humans because

nothing consoles because nothing replaces him.

I won’t be an ungrateful beggar. The only way

to bear charity is that you should forget her,

you should forget her, you should forget her:

or else she’s a fatal poison. Nothing could change

my vision of the world: if I were offered the earth

on a tray and even the Universe and even a hot-blooded

woman I’d still go on seeing the birth as I see her.

When I died without knowing that I die no one shed

bitter tears and nor do I know whether I mourned

for someone else neither in times of peace nor

on the battlefield of course those tears streamed

because they rendered my own fate emotional

not at all because someone disappeared these tears

make no sense. This emotion focused on yourself

petrifies me makes me lean over myself makes me

lacklustre and stupid. Does self-pity mean love

by any chance? To weep because you remained alone,

because you were forsaken, because you were driven

to the war unwillingly because your fate is hostile

to you ‒ always the tears you shed are for yourself.

The suffering is your own creation, is the product

of the dolorous time, there is no one who should come

to comfort me and to keep me company. I feel the tears

stream down my face, this supervenes before my

coming again into the world, this happens the moment

I can see the whole structure and the nature of this poor

and petty thing that is “The Ego” with his tears,

with his family, with his nation, with his beliefs

with his orthodoxy, with all his ugliness I see all these

within myself with my heart and mind and love

enshrouds me the suffering laid on the cross and adored

doesn’t interest me. When I come again to the earth

I, the anonymous one, shall discover the Love

and my love won’t fly out of the window.