The Earth inside
To be so high and low,
so sweet and sour,
irate though placid,
squeezing your mind within your hands
to choke its darkness...
On the last and first step,
a dreamer of peace and war,
of happiness and pain,
of everything and nothing...
Mad though sane,
passionately asleep whenever your eyes are open...
beholding injustice through closed eyelids...
sucking your own blood, out of excessive hatred and love.
You are alive and dead.
You are
dead and alive;
nothing can quench your thirst of
water and fire.
Nothing opens your ears
to the sound of the bell,
though you can hear its cries
through fading deafness.
I, the human with the pen and brush,
begetter of all thoughts and bearer of the hollow mind,
I dare tattoo my nothing on the galactic wall.
I have though I don’t,
I am though I am not,
breathing though long time dead.
My thanks to the eternally thankless,
I return to water and dust,
and may your light turn dark
if you dare desecrate my underworld.
I’m thirsty though full,
drowned
in the amniotic fluid of this end of days.
My children, wandering, lost souls
how long choose you to tolerate the sun
whilst praying for the darkness?
The fog will find you crying on a tomb,
and I will not be there, but here.
Taking your brushes to the wall,
carving thy idols, shall you evoke the storm!
But
may your end be your beginning if
you shall give the sun to the poor,
and the moon to the blind,
and the night to the dreamer,
the air to the human,
and life to the dead!
Time, running backwards, shall seek rebirth
of all.
Behold, then, the greening past, as far as nonexistence.
Stay children in the warm hug of the Spring,
and love as purely as the saint,
and dream, as any infant in the womb,
of white eternities at their peek.
My sickly children, above your hatred, above your thirst for blood,
fill once your cups
with love.