While I was tidying up, I found a few poems on my desk that I had overlooked so far, perhaps because I wanted to overlook them….
Unfortunately, I have often had to experience people
Who were like dark shadows, who clouded everything
They encompassed and who embittered the lives of others.
Blood clung to their hands and sullied their surroundings,
Their tongues spoke impurely and poisoned the atmosphere.
Then I wished for an Angel who would bring light
Into the darkness and drive out their demons.
But the murky figures remained and continued
In their sinister doings. And so my days became nights.
However, the most terrible thing of all was that
They received praise and glory for their deeds,
Thus they found many admirers and imitators.
For people revere what impresses them,
No matter how dark and bad it may be.
Greatness counts more than lightness, they say:
How many grey altars are built to sinister figures,
While forgetting the butterflies, the sunbeams,
The saints of small days – indeed, they even prevent
New ones from emerging: Power corrupts people.
For power despises weakness,
* * *
I always believed that my inner gift,
My purpose in life, was to create
Something new: full of light and colours.
And yet, when I look back on my life,
The time that has passed, in all these years
I have hardly created anything for my own.
What I was used for was mainly
To keep multiple things in this world
That would have been long gone without me.
So my life was full of decaying people and things.
I rescued them all from the twilight.
After all, this is not yet necromancy,
But it darkened and wasted my angelic powers.
And I was hated by those who adore destruction.
No accents of my own – yes, unfortunately:
I protected many people from graveyards,
I alleviated suffering, but sadly
I did not create fertile gardens
That give joy and safety from enemies.
* * *
There are more than a few people
Who believe they can save
Time with all kinds of actions.
Various guides tell them how
They can supposedly do everything
Much more efficiently.
But time cannot be owned,
It can only be experienced.
And the moments we skip,
We do not live.
Actually, this is a truism – and yet
The gentlemen in grey have triumphed
Almost everywhere. The result of this
Is a severe loss of cordiality.
* * *
The disdainful powerlessness of private utopias
When it comes to solving real problems
Should not be underestimated, it’s real:
Bourgeois mediocrity garnished with petty moral clubs
To weed out everything that stands in the way
Of personal advantage, cloaked behind worldliness
– None of this helps one bit in eliminating misery.
Because for these people, „being good“ only means
That they and their clique are doing well.
It is to the advantage of this infantile world view
That it denies any higher meaning that would reduce
One’s own and very personal profit.
They then call this „freedom“ and „liberalism“.
The fact that both, if truly meant,
Would include responsibility and fairness,
Which means absolutely more than mere bossiness
And the cover of a supposedly good conscience,
Is de-liberately ignored.
How good that there is a whole wide real world
Outside of these narrow, limited world views.
Even if we have lost every name and concept of it:
The normative power of the factual grounds them
After all. At some point. At last.
* * *
You should no longer expect salvation
Outside of yourself.
In your heart, the innermost refuge,
Where you meet heaven,
There happens what we call resurrection.
Yes, there is creation,
It exists outside and independent of you.
But you can find the way to the truth only
In your inner sanctuary.
In the big wide world outside, however,
You will meet at most its fire-sparkling prince
And those who serve him eagerly:
There is nothing but illusion and false expectations,
Hunger for superficial things that cannot be satisfied.
Therefore, rather reflect on your innermost
And follow your conscience.
Take your time and listen to yourself.
For only from this will salvation come.
That’s the only way that leads to the goal.
* * *
The great achievements of culture arise
From the dissatisfaction with being.
For it is not the happy,
Not those who are self-sufficient,
Who create paradises – but
Those who are full of longing,
Those who are full of unsatisfied desire.
For fruit to flourish requires the gardener’s longing,
Perseverance and patience. Not the insufficiency of the rich.
Those who quickly fulfil dreams, kill,
But those who nourish hope –
They give life.
* * *