To shed all pretense to being good and great;
And make open confession of oneself
Of all one's lifetime of triteness and lies;
Like proud Autumn collapsing all the splendor
Of cathedral foliage into the mere debris of trees,
Stripped to bare bark and skeleton hides
And naked reaching;
To sacrifice one's illusionary pride,
Surrender one's insecurity in beauty, in youth,
In the falsification of a reputation,
And go defenseless, balding, and ostracized
From all the littleness of tribal aggreeance;
To stand alone, humiliate;
In other words:
To know the Soul!
This is how it feels to die:
To collapse oneself as shoveled man
And find one's Self again,
They never rise who never groveled.
They never tried
Who never braved the jolt
Of being twice alive!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem