Even Berlin was not divided
like the city of Myself.
I long to visit you, my Soul,
on the other side of the Wall.
I know only this side of the Wall,
with its trees and roads and buildings
and its certain alternation of sun and shadow.
Closing my eyes, I sit on my pillow,
feeling emanations of a Sun beyond our sun,
rippling sperms of a joy that would be pink
were the lights on in there,
dancing, tickling me, laughing toward me.
You are said to be closer than my breath, O God.
Why then can I not scale or dismantle this Wall,
in order to get somewhere so near?
They say the other side of the Wall
shines like millions of suns and moons
and can't really even be described—
and all of that, I Am.
They tell of a man who ran across a field
to climb the Wall
and tell those below what he saw,
but when he got to the top
he started laughing and dove over
and was never seen again.
I hang out beside the Wall,
feeling the rays that come through,
longing for this world and That World to be united.
Can I build a podium and stand behind it, shouting,
'Mr. God, tear down this Wall! '?
Here, I long for There—
for There to be Here, too—
for I can no longer tolerate
the fickleness of joy,
the inconstancy of peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem