Disgusting body
Disgusting food
Disgusting life
Disgusting mood
Running for cover
Running after joy
Running to kill
The boy with the toy
Freedom from loving
freedom from pain
Freedom from breathing
Again & again
Get rid of thinking
Get rid of the town
Get rid of being
So that you don’t drown
Into the mire,
Into the sea,
Walk though the fire
To set yourself free.
Staying is sinking
And turning around
Burns your house
Down to the ground.
Be done with the people,
Be done with the talk,
Be where you are
And keep up the walk.
Giving, indifference,
Unglueing, restraint,
Are the simple things
That make a saint.
This is poetry is like prayer should be: making the poet a prayer for being better according to his best insight, instructing, warning, incanting the unconscious against the tides of temptation. I use this one quite a bit, also in parts. To me a good poem is not so much a text to be appreciated reading but like a roommate one lives with and shares a certain time and space, someone who is sometimes in the foreground, sometimes just providing a comforting presence in the background.
The best human growth always comes out of disenchantment. The best instruction is short, rhymy and rhythmic as it is for some reason hard to argue with; here this is reflected in the short lines; ambiguity, rudeness and innuendo prevent the prayer/poem from becoming cheesy or preachy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem