a sunday morning
you gave blood
to your most beloved dream –
your body sang of great happiness –,
the dream died –,
and you gave birth to me –
mother, the dead –,
the dream –
it was me, you gave birth to –,
o you gave your blood to the dream –
– – –
mother –!
blood –!
my heart is not of stone –
my heart
is
not of stone –
o, I see –:
blood is not delightful loving –
blood – blood
is copper-chains –
– – – |
dear mother –, not am I the dream –
mother – why does your eternally restless fingers twine
patient loops –
for me –?
why do your soul’s eyes see
always watchful
endless fields, white with bones –?
why does eagle-back bend knees
to unworthy gods –?
why do you cry – mother –
for me –?
dear mother –,
did you not see, that the dream died –?
– – –
my mother –!
beloved – rise –
see the way –!
(o don’t always see
the bottles
laughing women
hunger –
do not see the gravel, the stones –)
see the way –!
see the way, which I travel, whom you gave birth to
the sunday, when your lap was the singing mouth of life –
– – – |
mother – why do you wish for me
sleep
fullness
invincibility –?
give me power, mother –,
out of the courage, you got
that sunday –,
when you didn’t see,
that your most beautiful dream died –
and mother – mother
once,
when I have found the tail of the way
deep inside the lowest country,
we shall meet
and like a double droplet dissolve into the lake,
which is the eye of life –!
dear mother –
– – –
o, mother –
that you gave the dream your blood –
o, poor, beloved mother –
great mother –