Hell is not as bad if you know nothing about heaven
if you don’t kneel on the burnt leaves to worship the red lightning
and fail to scrutinize their sinful bliss.
Only the infant ignorance is genuine; we are just oscillating
between conservation and perpetuation
Like a silent thunder between the zenith and the abyss:
“Why does grass never grow on easels?”
“Why don’t all the birds fly and all the flowers bloom?”
“How do we hurt each other without deadly weapons
or undistinguished words or humdrum solitudes?”
Don’t light the candles! Don’t you see?
Their flames will only banish the last angels!
Instead, freeze your impulses in medieval winter tears,
postpone all your attempted irreverence and cancel the departed
wait with the vulnerable in this hibernating noon
of artificial expectations bred in captivity.
A downfall - nothing but a bitter self-compromise,
A renunciation - only a half-deafening inner cry
There is no outrage, no broken record of a slow decay
Only denied stages of native rituals,
a few hard-hitting whispers and some laconic echoes
Tantalized by the cruel tick-tock of biological time;
We are all destined for extinction
like snowflakes,like seasons, like morning dew
In the twinkle of nothingness, on the brink of the indigo skies,
Looming and queuing, pinpointing our deadlines,
For the next generations to overcome,
Trailing the debris of a lost paradise
With sadness the size of the pyramids housing the pharaohs’ funerals.