BETWEEN TORN MUSINGS

How are storm-torn Golgotha Wounds renewed? The handholds of Being no longer forget While rays' diagonals cross! Through the gaps of torn heart-beats the redeeming hope pierces: it shines through, hesitant as a wounded memory! We should cling to a handful of wills, it will not be too late! Among our dripping-water fears, it would be good to cling to protective handholds! The career-breaking wretches trample each other like a herd, and the naked truth of their skin-tight nakedness can never be proved by childish helplessness!

On the wandering and wandering soul the silence falls! Unnoticed it steals through the catacombs of the inner self; The romantic moments left on the pillow leave a mark on our wrinkled faces! The witnessing watcher waits for awakening in a common, ostracized solitude! - From islands of instinct-depths the Universe roars while for the umpteenth time patience shames itself, why it could not be more persistent and more resilient! We are constantly deceiving ourselves in our imaginary dreams!

It grows into a mould, like the honey-glow of a selfish love, and the world settles down to a more and more calculating exclusion! In silent meditations it would be so good to rest, To lay our heads on the petal-arms of the Dear! The radiant bliss, like a well-fed immortality, would bend kindly on us; I would call Him back to me from endless ages, and not gaze with honey-stricken eyes on the prodigal Nirvana, which has turned into Nothing!

I have always been a broken bird's wing who could not be taught to fly, only to fall! Reality with its heavy burden would always crush me, and I know: it is up to me alone to decide what to do with my inner security.