to cry alone, diary note

to cry alone is a bit like masturbation or a quickie with a foreigner,
short relief, a fast release,
leaving emptiness. i cannot cry easily anymore alone.
i wish i could cry in embrace, in silent warmth,
opening my pain. i wish i could cry all the uncried tears
and flood the dry bed of a river, let them flow to the sea.
i wish i could. i wish i could be allowed.
i wish i could untie all the knots in me, open the traps,
let control disappear in trust and all fight dissolve in warmth.
i wish all war could end.
not only mine, i wish the borders would disappear,
i wish there would be springs in all holes in the ground,
i wish our steps would not be swallowed by sand.
i wish all dead trees would go green, and all birds would sing,
now.
because: i am here only now.
but there is no hell: it is here, it is the purgatory.
i know since childhood. i've gone the way through
and must walk on.
it is the way to the waste land where visions and creatures,
fig trees and oranges, humans and butterflies are born: then the dead will see.
wishes are irrelevant.