Akin to Lamentations

Finding this poetic lament from Edward Stachura (1937-1979), a writer of the Polish post-war generation:

 

A Letter to the Remaining

I am dying:
for my sins and my innocence
for the lack which I feel with each particle of my body and each particle of my soul; for the lack which is tearing me to pieces like a newspaper covered with noisy meaningless words
for the chance to unite with the Nameless, the Extraverbal, the Unknown
for a new day
for wonderful wilderness
for the sight above all sights
for the true apparition
for the dot over ypsilon
for the mystery of death
in fear, in terror, in sweat of toil
for the loss of the obvious
for the lost keys of understanding
with a tiny spark of trust that if the seed dies, it will bear fruit
for the loneliness of dying
since all body is always the corpse
since it’s hard, frightful and unbearable
for the chance to transform
for people’s misfortune and my own which I bear on me and in me
for it all looks like it’s only a dream, a nightmare
for it all looks like it’s not true
for it all looks like it’s absurd
for all here decays, rots and nothing is permanent but longing for permanence
for I no longer am of this world and maybe never have been
for it looks like there is nothing here that can save me
for I no longer can love with earthly love
for noli me tangere
for I am very tired, indescribably exhausted
for I have suffered much
for I have already been, although it happened in madness, crucified in the most literal and most physical way and how deep and how real was my pain
for I wanted to deliver from evil all people and the whole world and if it did not happen, I cannot call it my fault
for it looks like there is no need for me here
for I don’t feel cheated which would help me rather stay than die; stay and search for the guilty one, maybe in myself; but I don’t feel cheated
for he who can stay in this world—let him stay and I wish him well, and when his time comes to die—let his death be light
for I—I’m going to you, Father of the pastures
to maybe at last find peacefulness, deserved I suppose, deserved I suppose, for I wasn’t spared even from madness
for everything hurts me terribly
for I am suffocating in this cage
for lonely is my soul until death
for the last piece of paper ends on time and it’s only a step and long Live Life
for I have stood at the beginning, for the Father pulled me and I will stand at the end and I will not taste death.

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