Dedicated to Andrej Bolkonskij in "War and Peace"
Death was part of him without him knowing.
He had his honour and a wife
who loved him not, but begged him to stay,
because she was afraid of the things to come.
But he was looking for ways out of here,
away from the world where women want to love,
away from spring with the overflowing
hearts and throats without a ‚what for?‘
When she faded, only bitterness was left,
guilt before a love he had never felt,
guilt before the knowledge that nothing moves him
and that life never forgives.
And he swore to live like the oak,
black and gloomy, refusing the spring green.
Let others yield to the deceit –
I know life. For me, it’s over.
He did not know that sometimes oaks turn green,
unexpectedly, surprised and tender.
That, charmed by the power of beauty,
longing reveals itself to them once more.
He started to believe in second chances
and to see the sun in her eyes.
Nothing could take off his illusions,
it was too beautiful – too beautiful.
But love did not originate in himself.
Within him was no love for this small one,
was too great and all for himself,
and didn’t hold fast when things broke.
And once again he saw himself deceived,
broken loose from sun and world.
Henceforth he only strove for the top,
relieved from everything that hurts.
The others observed him full of regret.
They’d wished he were close to them
but closeness is only where love is,
and where it is lacking, existence builds walls.
Like the oak, crushed by lightning,
every day seemed a needless burden to him.
He had long since fled into the Otherness
that is condensing further every day.
Then Death came and shattered the walls.
An insight that separated him from everyone else.
Imperceptibly, while they were still striving to rescue him,
he met his choice, withdraw and went home.