Shunning Egypt, Egypt-born, a generation wanes,
chained forever to the past by memory and pain -
a wandering tribe, freed unfree to follow forty years
one giant glowing pillar through the sands.
To Kill The Past, Kill The Man
so memory of slavery meets its death in everyone.
A theology of hindsight, rank as hindmosts always are;
Why wait forty years if desire is undone?
I'd volunteer my atoms for conversion for an end.
Since energy needs mass, they'll advertise:
Weary?
Welcome! You Are Wise!
To be diverted to the purposes of those who would go on.
But stupidly, biology insists and there's the rub.
I wake, I eat - habituate, until my end should come.
Though after death the hair and nails grow long -
stubborn little cells, though dead, go on and on.
It seems religion was not wrong:
there is life after life after grosser life is gone.
So in this now in nominal life in unnamed nether lands,
not enough loving life,
not enough loving death
I watch
I wait
disengaged,
for the shift.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem