Lo my past, all I breathe is you;
We dine together, drink wine,
Curse the present which is all but mine;
Thee the thought, I murderer, blood the carcass you call new.
‘Body lives, body lived,
You sleep, you die, you corpse in the grave;
Soul dies, love dies, a victim never brave,
Murder it, murder it, it is all what Homer did.’
‘No soul to eternity, is it so?
Soul murdered then or now, is it the same thence?
Isn’t the present I was here to live, O I know it whence?
The seed of guilt will harvest my grave, when nescience in all I sow.’
Sun is out, the dark on a climb,
Know I not whether to live the soul or bleed it to death,
Greenness, the dark, she now hides my path, should I choke the breath?
Never will I know, to live life, O soul, my eyes, or kill them both, turn as well as blind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem