Burning thy bridges—dost thou make you happy, my daughter?
When all is said and done, will you not be standing in a heaping pile
of ash and soot? Of the wreckage of a life once so well-lived;
I love you, my daughter—but I cannot stand by to see this:
You, clawing at the grains of society and tearing up the foothills of humanity
with your savage beauty and fiery intellect—
An intelligence that is aflame, my daughter,
but one that is no doubt channeled in anger & lust.
I tried to keep you safe from the evil of this world, my daughter,
however it sank into thy bones. —Where is the peace I patiently taught you
by example? —I see no signs of it in thy thrashing heart.
I ran out of ideas, my daughter, and now I am gone—
Yet you live on, in my footsteps, in my memory, bearing my name.
I hesitate to say: Make me proud. Although when you feel my love—
like a fulfilling contentment in your dreams—wake up with it in thy heart
and be brave enough to keep it lit throughout the day.
And that, my daughter,
Is where you shall begin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem