diary note

outside storm, howling, the shutters clattering.
a fire, a candle, a warm house.

with the last months i see everything so clear.
it is not that i never saw this clear before but i tried
by all means to turn a blind eye.

life and death and love have taken their toll
from me, i lost blood and i knew all along.

does the overflowing heart stop to flow
just because its water runs into a desert?

i met so much your shadow and mine, and mine again,
met your interpretation, more so than i met you.

i went through my own fire,my  hell  and my passion,
frustration, anger, sadness.
i lost my desire. i forgot my dreams.

it is commonly said that we rise out of ashes,
i don't know.
when all the wood will have burned , how?

is the heart still alive in the termite hills, does it beat with
the rhythm of the sun, the planets and the stars,
will the thirsty soul be purified in the river of life,
will the hedgehogs embrace and  when is the time of cherries?

the spring is moving underground,
the rain has stayed away.
and in my own fire i grew steel.

it is not a game.
rain is a serious matter.

i am as much a normal man and ordinary
as i am not. if i exist or not doesn't matter.
i am present in this my incarnation and
must bear it and accept it.

i will not suffer for  an idea or a project.
i'd only suffer in and with  love for and with another.
else i'll be just me, separate and on my own.

nothing will happen and all.
and i even don't know this.
it is as it is? nothing is as it is:
this has as a precondition to define the 'what',  the 'it'.

God didn't give names.
so, best i try the same.
good night, conrad.