Milan Dragović

ON CAUSE
AND MEANING
(1996-2002)
This is a book about NOTHING
A book for all and none,
A verification of the system of values
And all its informers.

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ABSURDITY is the key to it all,
at the end of which
are we.
This is the point where absurdity gains meaning,
and we get the key.

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What is this NOTHING?

It is Nothing that I talk about

... and if by chance you are
interested in this NOTHING,
then there is nothing.
Stronger than this
– is already something.

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5
... said: “IT’S TOO DARK”

And what do you know about light?!

Light is the blade of darkness,
and few are those who get across,
without being cut – that’s why many people bleed.
I know the taste of your blood
– the taste of the severed rose:
who threatened the night, taking vengeance against the dark:
gathering it in a dew drop in the morning sun
– on a rose’s thorn.
This is my tear.
This is my dream.

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EPITAPH

This is addressed to you

great star in the name of love
be the one to take care of me
– make love immortal
and death ephemeral.

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MONOLITH

All the signs of the night past

have vanished without a trace,
and the morning keenly tries
to get hold of the day –
attempting to find a sign of her.

The red sunset

made it clear
that the night has slain the day,
and is now trying
to hide herself in shade.

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ATLANTIS
or a version of the final text of the law

Thought – suicide, is like an iceberg:

upon it you can rest, but you are never safe.

On a wall of a church it says: “Thank you God

for returning my soul – now I can weep.”

At dusk, the natives of the Tumba-Tumba tribe

set on a quest to search for the sun
which has set behind the forest.
At general amazement, on the second day they found it
in the village of Atlantis.
They returned to their own village
and at the crack of dawn ate the hen
who has laid the sun of out superstition.

A man can resist it only by

believing it is nothing,
otherwise he gets scared – for he is far from home.

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ANAGRAM

They accuse Him, so He would tell them

why He’s guilty.
Since He cannot find the answer, He becomes
a threat to the meaning.

Where is life but in faith;

faith in meaning;
and meaning in life.

In order to be certain of this – that life

is impossible without faith in meaning,
which He has equated with righteousness
in order to understand it better (for He fears it might not be so),
the only possible solution emerges:
They reach a verdict which He called for Himself.

This is why They know not what they sentence Him for,
and He has told no one.

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THE CASTLE

Once there was a castle

almost deserted.

And in it lived:

a rain-soaked half-plucked hen,

who just escaped from the claws
of some enormous beast –
and was expected
to lay the sun.
This hen was called – Will.

There was also a king–

like a pulsation of empty space:
him I dubbed
Mind or thought.

As is appropriate for king and castle

there was also the inevitable court jester – the fool:
whom I named – Hope.

If Will is the redeemer and bringer of joy,

and in her each act there lies a commanding thought
(in this case it is this king from this castle),
then by all means one should not believe that it is possible to separate
this thought from wanting – so in this case in order for
the Will not to become utterly worn out:

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the king had to help this unfortunate hen
so all of them could survive.
I speak of Hope as a court jester: for I know
that moderate scepticism keeps the Mind perpetually awake,
whilst faith dies in the dream she has woven herself:
thus giving birth to Hope in henlike blindness – owing to the fool,
who last night said that the sun is being born somewhere else,
which the hen did not believe and thus spent the night awaiting.
In the morning when the sun came up – the hen became blind,
and the king was about to leave the castle
for he was haunted by strange spirits throughout the entire night,
and so the fool, in order to set the king’s mind at ease
(since we know the fool is at times wiser than the king)
– told him a story, and it goes:

There!
It is nothing
that I talk about
and if by chance you are interested in this nothing
then there is nothing
stronger than this
is already something.

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A CUCKOO WANTS TO BE A BIRD OF PARADISE

A cuckoo wants to bee a bird of paradise

so she waits and waits for an egg to plant in neat
a bird of paradise hoping she’d befit.

Throughout the whole night she thought of a song

but in the morning she wailed all along.

So she prepared a plan in secret

between her wailing and my estimate
of what time before daylight we have left.

One guest ceremony she conducted

– and the days of the year thus got wedded.

All in waiting for that which is to come

none of which without her could be done.

The sun on its path, a dark cloud behind

rain it contains, spite it barely constrains,
washes the song to illuminate the blaze
of the cross in the eye of eye of flame
crucified is the love of the born soul
one who now treads across both high and low
seeking to cast his gaze upon her face –
the face of this song ‘tween sigh and sigh
– the white coloured eyelid of a bird’s eye.

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BEYOND THE CLOUDS

I am asleep and not asleep.

I hear – somebody is talking,
but there is no sound.
... As if somebody is rummaging through things
– it’s too incomprehensible.
I reflect – reflection,
it’s the only thing that sounds like this:
like someone is looking for a thought.
And the thought – escaped
and now is free,
beyond the reach of all description.
And I know not where it is
and I know not if it is
is my soul free now?
And the tongue
like a child under the table
eyes wide open, awaiting
for something to break – beyond the clouds ...

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I LIKE TO SLEEP

I like to sleep.
I like to die for a while, while my body stays in
and dreams of how I’m alive in my dream,
and I don’t know it’s me
since I’ve yet not been born in that form
unaccustomed to that skin.

I like to sleep
and dream someone else’s unfinished dream, for
maybe that someone thought it was boring.
He did not know visit each other at hours of darkness.
Without doors without windows we wait for dawn
which resides somewhere else, hanging
like crystal on a dream thread of mankind’s sadness.

The sun lightly rises

like a spider on an invisible net of life,
and gentle vibrating of souls can be seen,
like on a trail: from heaven to heaven.

This dream that got caught on a thorn

by the road
– gets ripped in the wind
like a morning dress
under a gush of time
coarsening and turning to ash grey
– the only shade the sun gave away
(draped in it).
And like ember
only the stars can be seen

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in the night all dark and dim
– for your arrival awaiting.

And perhaps they don’t exist either.

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THE TUNNEL

When you enter empty space and stumble upon so many things
you know you’re alive:
and if you end up in a mental hospital
it means you’ve seen them where there were none.

What do you make of it:

your mind going mad, and you staying sane,
telling it: “Well it’s your fault for being stupid”,
and then it takes you to a nuthouse.

The open managerial position

reminds you of early youth,
and the first obsession of finding yourself
in something else.

“In a flower pot?” – somebody asks me along the way.

“Do you grow your madness in flower pots?”

“Of course not” I answered politely,

“I’ve seen it in a movie – “She is his sun and he is her husband”.”

Exiting the movies so

a joke came out of my head on its own
in the middle of the street
and it got hit by a tram.

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A scream was heard.
A shade that fell from a nearby building
got blown to bits and is now in the hospital yard.
The doctors say – it will hardly hold for more than an hour.

Through immense pains, through the sun’s rays

blindness by light and the dark lingering like a memory
of a man with a raised arm, shading himself from the sun.
I thought... my mind is blind – and it was only fear.

In front of the church I ran into a beggar who

somewhere deep inside his soul
has a distinctive feeling
that somebody owes him something.

Not before the temple I predict

should we allow shame and conceit.
Our eyes ensnared, devoid of tears, desiccated;
we wonder why in spider web they’re trapped.

I have a feeling I ate my brain:

though I said nothing more than I understand
every time I think –
it makes me want to vomit.

A few steps away the wise men stood and watched.

And I like talking to wise men:
the wise keep silent,
and I listen.

A teacher walked on by (the presence of spirit).

He mumbled to himself, something like:

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“The one who needs to be taught cannot be taught
unless the one who is to learn desires to learn.”

Just after he found the thought, the one which

also meant the beginning of his undermining, since
right after being confirmed the thought refutes itself,
he said: “Maybe it’s God’s punishment”, and hastened on.

As I hurried along after the teacher (the presence of spirit)

somebody stopped me and asked: “Do you know Michael?”
I answered: “No!” And then he asked: “Do you expect me to know
Michael?”
I asked: “And who is Michael?” And he said: “I don’t know, I thought he
may have been hit by a truck.”

After not more then a few steps, she appeared from behind the corner.
“Hi! say something.”
“Have you never heard of a gaze”, I said
“that strips the skull right to the bone?” – and stroked her hair.

“Oh?” – she said.

“If you’d read Freud and Yung you’d have known what your problem is
and this way, you will soon need
to get help from a psychiatrist.”

“And you’ve read them then?”

“Certainly.”
– I was a spectator in an experiment in which Freud and Yung tried to cure
an unknown madness – and then I raised a revolution and killed my leader.

Although many are misled regarding the following, I must tell them
that understanding
does not come from reading;

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nor it is exclusively in the domain of our reason.

I want here and now.

I do not want ideals that enrich the soul,
nor an idea that exalts and transcends life
promising immortality, while betraying you.

And I don’t want to be a piece of paper on the table

into whose face sinners carve in their name,
and I don’t want to be alike anything in this life
that has a role predestined by fate.

I am not satisfied by the given meaning

and I know what a circle with no middle is: one without the other.
My path is a path of the heart in eternal reflection;
I want to obtain my freedom by grasping the essence: in the centre of the
circle.

... And thus my circle turned into a straight line, abandoning me

in search of the curve of the universe
so it could unearth me again in the shining of stars
in your eyes.

I handled it well, not knowing I know,

and now you’ll have to cope with knowing you don’t know:
for I am a spy in the house of love
and I can see exactly where all your dreams cease to be.

I know it all,
and still I tremendously yearn
for you to teach me something
– I would love to love you.

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THE BELL TOWER

This is not a translation of language.

it’s a translation of thoughts.
Better to keep silent if you understand it not,
for the one who doesn’t know, always can be taught.
The one that speculates, he can merely guess
And he who knows – therefore is voiceless.

I was recognized by my thoughts

divided
where were they hiding, in badlands
what were they dreaming
were they concealing
- in there, were they even living?

Silence frets
by the bell tower.
Dark has taken hold, so the fool has told.
The immortals feast while the bell sleeps,
a hand of doubt along its ropeline creeps.
Character description, the final depiction.

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AT THE END OF A BARE INFINITIVE IN FUTURE TENSE

I’ll wipe off with a cloth the spot where I’ve been
nothing save for dust – shall after me reside,
make sure it doesn’t scratch your dreamy eyes;
I’m wept through tears of birds and fish – pearls in a seashell
glimmering this night;
in the infinity of the universe – stars in solitude alight.

And when a world of remembrance appears before you

from behind a corner that does not exist
on a street which leads to memories –
distanced from its parent city,
taking you to a place where the expected spot
is gone – you dream:

stars in solitude alight – in the infinity of the universe

... no apostrophe there needed

I grow...

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I LIKE TRAINS

I like trains that travel

without my permission
and the train driver not knowing I exist.

It seems one verse is missing here

...
but I can’t remember what came before.

Perhaps one time I might question whether the earth’s globe

ever actually passed through here
and I’m not at all the suspicious type.

I thought this was a path to the stars

so I only bought a ticket
in one direction

– it didn’t fit
neither on my paper
nor in my mind...

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JUDGMENT DAY

This is a story below the psychological lowest

which is why no one will know to whom it is addressed.

Two friends ran into each other – both having similar views about the world
– only there was no world – a black hole (aha! now what you gonna do?)

... “What will our views about the world be like now?”,
asks the first one, “perhaps black?”

“Who knows, it’s gone” – answers the other.

On a panel it says:
“No matter how open-minded a man may be,
he must know his way home – if he doesn’t
it means he’s either homeless or insane.”
(what if he’s drunk?)

Further along a man with a club is standing behind a corner.

I ask him what he’s doing – and he says:
“I’m waiting for judgment day.”

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AH, WELL...

– That isn’t like you!

– Many things are nothing like me,

and still people think it’s me.

– Well, what does that have to do

with what I’m saying now?

– And why would I be that

which others think I am?!

– I was referring to a certain specific

feature that denotes your personality.

– This too is a specific feature of mine.

Maybe the most important one, but it’s invisible.

– What do you mean, ‘invisible’?

It has to be visible – according to your life style.

– Ah, well you see: this feature

doesn’t live with me, it is free.

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THE SECRET

I didn’t lie in order to steal

I lied because I knew well
where the treasure lay hid
so it would in safety dwell.

Vows I never gave away

Never so low did I sway
my youth to sell away
only mercy to obtain.

by a secret, life betray.

Love we will share.

Never did a soul
discover a secret
greater that this

herein that lays hid.

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REFORM OF SCHOOLING

Here I do not write as I believe

but as others expect me to.

They each awaited their own kin

as if he’d in a death-camp been
asking him what came about
how and when did he get caught
if his origin he gave away
if he someone’s grudge attained
he might be recognized his plots realized
how would then the unfortunate lad
save his face and keep his name clad.

From his comrades he kept himself aloof

for days he often avoided even food
wiping off his footprints going backwards
so nobody would expect his return.
He would at times visit home in a dream
when everybody would be asleep,
and even there he feared he’d be discovered
and so no word he ever uttered.

Now that everybody has renounced him

both his name and his origin –
he will know.

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THE LOST COUNTRY OF NEVERLAND
(Bring out your dead)

Had Stigoje the Betrayed charred

his wife’s eyes – as was the law back then
Neverland would find sight in her soul
and this way....
miserable and black
she has eyes and yet is blind
wandering searching
for the ember of the flaming sword
to endow her with what is rightly hers
so she’d find escape from the Hades
and be able to look herself in the face
and in a single tear wash her eyelashes,
through a window like an empty hollow
release her soul like a white dove
to be her eyesight and her guide
till she reaches the very heaven arc
and God himself
not knowing nor hearing.

Upon returning home she then may

in a mirror her reflection gaze
cleansed from shame and disgrace....
in a graveyard beside all the graves
that others have afflicted upon us
one of our own making could too reside
where we may bury all deceit and lies.

Then her soul will finally be at ease

she’ll be able to see her self exist
in a mirror made of tears

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as through poem’s verse the poet searched
for the lost country of NEVERLAND.
SHE KNOWS

She knows how to see

though is being born blind.

Sees with eyes closed

no hindrance there at all.

Aware of her existence

and the existence of the globe.

Feeds on the surrounding darkness,

and comes upon my eyes
to see the unseen – looking for you.

Like a frozen light

through a tear of mine, a glitter
of the morning sunrise.

Oh how beautiful
and unmarred is the world
where thought has never resided.

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STRANGE WAYS

A man devoid of love – in fear of madness

indulges his urges.
In search of answers he makes his way
through untrodden domains,
and then stumbles upon a strange man on his doorstep:
“Well, where were you? Are you never home?”
“I was running away from fear.”
“So, fear has driven you to run off to a place
where you can never arrive at?”
“I don’t know, it was something unknown.”
“Are you always afraid of this unknown?”
“No. I am afraid of the actual possibility
of losing direction: for on my way
I came across a sign that said ‘I came from where
there is nothing at all – to tell you that
everything is possible. I’ll wait for you at home’.”
“So what do you make of that?” (this is the first time he leaps out)1
“Nothing much. My thoughts are trying to
reconcile the difference between that image
in its symbolic meaning and that
in its true sense.”
“Are you certain of this?” (this is the second time he leaps out)
(I’m sorry, the main character got a bit carried away:
he apparently allowed himself such insolence,
to enter into a debate with the one who hired him,
therefore I’ll have to remind him who’s in charge here.)
“’Without love, without love:
without love there’d be no world’.
Now, off you go home.”

1
help to the reader

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A TALKING EAR

Van Gogh ripped off his ear because he couldn’t believe

what he had heard, and what he heard was a voice, saying:
“Regardless of your eyesight, you are blind.”
Good thing he didn’t take out his eye too
in search of the seed of doubt that in him grew.

Not unusual are those who enjoy and give their best
to live in deception – that’s where they escape to rest
from ‘honest’ life and all its tasks and tests.
That’s where no one bothers them – and they have no peace, it’s
their first apt opportunity to catch the thief:
and he gets away like inspiration
which dwells in self-belief,
the inhabitant of condemnation;
when everybody’s condemned, they turn to themselves,
for they imagine that their importance is so immense
that they can’t live unless it’s according to their taste
for the world would shatter
out of massive grief
cause they are victims
of their own false belief.
– It is self-pity.
...Repent while there’s time.
Solitude is not that bad.
A lie is far more barren –
therein even shadows cheat on their masters.
Solitude will teach you how to live in pairs.

The way you are living now,

is a life out of habit.

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 THE PURSUIT AFTER THE KILLER-RABBIT
Part I

I’LL FIND HIM, IF EVEN IN CABBAGE

According to his trails, he can’t be far off.

I feel it because of the dark
that gets the chills each time I think of him.
He hides out in gorges and inaccessible caves
which count down his slow ending
like the beating of my restless heart.
The pounding of rain in the ears of a petrified mouse –
what will happen when he spots him? my unclear image
(of terrified space that keeps narrowing itself down
in order to protect him, and widening in order to devour me)
of a distorted gaze –
does it remember his face
which it has never seen before?

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THE ODOUR OF ENLIGHTEMENT

A Zen student waiting for this teacher thought

since he had some spare time on his hands
it’d be best if he relieved himself, so he went
behind a nearby bush to drop a load.
Along the way it dawned on him – to ask the shit
whether that morning it has been a banana?
The other students saw him crouching
and asked him what was he doing there?
He replied back: “I’m waiting for the teacher.”
Just at that a slight gush of wind
rose a cloud of dust out of which
appeared the teacher on the road.
The students quickly ran up to him
and told him about what they’d heard and seen.
“What was his name again?” the teacher asked.
“Basho!!!” the students replied all as one.
The teacher then said: “If it is so, now I
don’t have to go to him, he is enlightened –
and the smell speaks for itself.

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AT THE JOY OF READING

To a students question – whether he liked the poem,

the teacher replied:
“I have read and I will read some more.
– There are those who have an opinion.
There are those who have an opinion,
but don’t agree with it.
There are those who have no opinion.

I am not my own opinion

so I couldn’t tell what it’s thinking.

I have read and I will read some more.”

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DOORS OF HEAVEN

Oh doors of heaven
fashioned for death
I want inside, to a life with no end.

“It is you I searched to discover,

and with our two sighs
love I’ve uncovered.”

– The sun is born

to be the third one in this:
a child outshining bliss.

A heartbeat
like blood in the arteries
rushes to the ears of deaf space.

That blunt blow

devours my yearning
and increases my craving

that in the last blow

the one mixed with pain
bliss I manage to attain:

within the voice

piercing through silence

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– I AM ALIVE.

MY DEPARTURE

You before me, sweat and blush

as I compel your core to rush.

Walls besieged in full restrain

of regrets of passions of pain.

You holler as I pierce you through

oh obscure night you eat me too.

You strangle me as I twitch in vain

oh sweet death what’s your game:

ecstatic transfer to the other side

or a new wound on this torn hide?

Your eyelids now gleam with gold

the starry dew keeps you in its hold.

That is all that I have left behind

– a gleam in an enamoured women’s eye.

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PICTURE

I would like to have your picture.

I would like to use it as a marker

for the pages I have read.

To put it down
where I’ve left off.

So like the morning opening

the night – the sun can come out.

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MIRACLE

No poem is addressed to you, for none

is worthy of your name’s true value.
All of these things created up to now
have held you in mind all the while,
but were never rightly bold
to have your name herein told.

Meddling word from you I flee in fear

should you recognize yourself in here:
but you always manage to draw near
so I change your name till it disappears:
so that others can’t discover you or see
seize you then and part you from me.

I have given away my heart to you

oh my envisioned image my icon true
a heart hung around the neck of space and time
as a helping hand for those passing by
a road sign pointing to endless life in eternity
pathway to the stars in your name’s gravity.

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 AUM

The hunt for the ape – sacrifice

A Sanskrit sign

Jumper

The rider or the ape

Mind

As thought follows behind

Then

The ideal solution

Is

AIN SOF

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BEHIND YOUR MIND

Printed in highlands, a book of the law

when was forbidden, came to each home.
Amid games with no frontiers she moved unseen:
mesmerized all door locks with tunes enchanting –
she unleashed her heart upon a mountain spring
from which this charming melody does sing.

Your tortured soul long ago imprisoned

lived by the shade of your name sheltered
till great love brought a change to it all:
my name is love, and the name is gone;
and now your soul is free to roam, for
this is a place behind your mind’s home.

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PRIZE KEY FOR DOORS NUMBER 16

Puzzle offered as a key to the given inquiry.

Find a situation
for the winning combination.

You’re observed up close by doors ajar, upon you set

the heaven’s eye, impossible to tell by whom you’re spied:

the cause is on the lookout for the consequence,

ancient dark seeks light’s imminence – in hope of dawn,
that which is to pass – that which is yet to come;

all of which is in that crack and interruption

– of those doors ajar
at the welcoming reception...

We await for the one who knows.

– Just a moment!

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NEXT

How could the Force of Heaven be believed in

by those who don’t even believe in their own belief;
that’s why some believe without knowing the motif.

How could the Force of Heaven be believed in

by those who never
weep in their sleep.

How could She then believe in

those who’ve betrayed their closest kin,

betraying their very self

– they’d betray Her too, if only they could.

Nonetheless they’ll come to bow

pray and plea for their own lives

– it will be too late by then

... pray for others instead.

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 THE PURSUIT AFTER THE KILLER-RABBIT
Part II

IRRADIATION OF THE BRAIN

AND RADIOACTIVE DOWNPOURS

Resembling a trail of light clouds,

white-boned – my thoughts vibrate
at the very notion of the rabbit.
The killer-rabbit must be creeping up
inside that cloud made of misty swirl.
Every inquisitiveness will perish out of fear
if it fails to realize that hope will merely deceive –
if will is not the one to rule over the desire
to reach the final goal before our very fall.
When the mist got dispersed
I had a strange feeling I was near the rabbit
though I was left with no proof.
And the frogs that fell from the cloud
gave a croak all pleased and loud –
when they’ve fallen, though crude landing,
they have proven they are something.

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 ANECDOTES

IN MONTENEGRO

If by chance in Montenegro
a gusle player served as a preventative measure in a prison
there wouldn’t be many prisoners left:
some would turn to thinkers
others
to slain heroes.

A SERB DIVIDED IN TWO

What ever comes to mind, from a Serb you can buy,

there is no such thing he’d hesitate to sell.
If the price is right, he’d even kill himself:
prepared to do it all for a bit of cash;
he can be saved only by his other side –
the compelling urge to cheat you of your hide.

A DALMATIAN

Around his neck a little chain, he sees nothing as a game.

Towards the bridge he strolls, engaged in deep thought
He’s as quiet as a mouse as he works out his retort,
and then, “the donkey came”, suddenly he makes it plain
his head up high as he makes his bragging bray.
His eyes blue like sapphire depths of high seas
while uncontainable cries that come from the deep
billow his belly – listening to him, such a bliss:

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and all is in resonance with “I am a Dalmatian!”, it is
true, and his bray echoes – Mee-too! Mee-too! Mee-too!
STORIES FROM KOVAČIJA

First story: PROVOCATION OF KNOWLEDGE

– Aye?
– Yea.

Second story: UNWANTED EARS

I been o’er there to see him.

And I told him – it is such and such.
And he says to me – it’s so and so.
And that my old chap
is the lot of it...

... No use talking to you. Bah!

I’m telling you.
It’s the God’s honest truth.

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PEOPLE FROM THE MOUNTAIN

All with someone

they with no one –
we are our own, they say
but none of their own ever comes their way;
we’re carved from stone, they affirm
(to God’s grace)
– that is why we are so stern.
On the ears they’re even harder,
and their tongue rejects to flatten
(for it could not be any harsher)
unless the echo gives the answer
who upon the highland treads:
a new word can then be said –
a forgotten name there bred.
These great mountains must be wise, for
engaged in thought, all along
here they sat
proud and strong.
By heart they knew each soul’s name
and a nickname even fairer gave.

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YOU HAVE TO BE A MAN

One who always repeats the same

shouldn’t have spoken at all,
it was sufficient when for the first time
he spoke what was on his mind.
What kind of a man is the one
who never changes his opinion;
no man is like a donkey
whom nobody listens to
nor seeks his opinion,
who carries his burden till he’s dead –
it’s not at all that simple.
Most important is the idea.
It is not as you will it.
You cannot go searching for it
it’s not a lost goose
to be therefore found,
instead, it is the one to find you –
and strike you precisely between the ears
– a donkey can prick up his ears all he wants
to him it will never come.

47
A STARTLED TELEVISION SET

Guilty are those who ruled up to now

so let them have it
good thing they got thrown down,
they should’ve set a better example
shared all things instead of trampled
in even portions
and according to merit,
and for those struck by weakness
those with denied consciousness
they should’ve opened a humanity fund
without favouritism in taking part.
So let them have it
good think they got thrown down
they should’ve set a better example:
now the newly arrived, the ones who
managed to throw down the old crew
shove their heads into the telly
trying to see
what therein can be!?

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EXPENSIVE LIFE
A cheap story
(freedom in money)

– How much?
– Ten.
– Why fifteen?
– Because you heard wrong.
– I hear just fine.
– Then you did not understand.
– I am no fool!
– Well then the price has gone up.
– Oh well, everything is so expensive.

49
A MAN TOLD ME

This thing that happened to me

I like what happened
because I cannot
escape the impression
that I’ve been cheated in life
and that everything has a price
regardless of the fact that
what was back then isn’t this that is now
until it happened
even worse I believe
to believe that perhaps
it is in fact
what I’ve looked for
and actually
it just never fell
into place
to show who’s who
and if it weren’t like that
it wouldn’t be like it is now.

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 THE PURSUIT AFTER THE KILLER-RABBIT
Part III

NO SIGN OF THE RABBIT

I was told he was killed by a man

in a nameless village on the other side of the lake.
But as I never heard the shot, I’ll go and see
whether it’s true.

For a few days I randomly walked

the entwined paths and goat tracks
but no sign of the name of the lost village
nor the goat nor the rabbit-killer.

It suddenly got dark.

I cast a quick gaze at the rocks above me.

– The goat stabbed the sun with her horns
and the killer-rabbit in his teeth holds the man
who was said to have killed him.

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THE BOY

I ate the first violet

so I’d be granted a wish.
I ate a rose bud
each time I’d think of you.

I threw my head into blackberries

like playing ‘throw the stone of a shoulder’
and then all smeared I’d
watch the clouds floating by.

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