I Love

I love the cool transparency

Of the Himalayan skies;

The calm, unfeeling way the sun

Shines without warmth upon

The powerful black pyramids,

The chrystal mountain tops,

And the tiny figures frozen to

Their ragged ridges and their endless slopes;


I love the deceiving embrace

Of cold lakes and ocean depths;

One moment it will comfort you,

The next — strangle to death;

The waves will share their fairy-tales

And secrets with one man,

While another will be driven mad

By a sudden storm’s black rage;


I love the true, raw loneliness

Of a fighter in the ring,

Where fears collide and courage hides,

Where dreams turn into demons;

Where the audience curses and cheers

The winner of the fight,

While the loser, destroyed, disappears,

Into the quiet of doubt;


I love the roads that can’t be built

And those, which know the rhythm

Of thousands of pilgrims’ feet,

And the tales of sins they want forgiven;

Those roads, which take you to the edge,

Where, off the precipice,

You can send flying down a rock

Or a burdensome memory;


These things I love and want the most

Run, like sand, through my fingers;

Not for a moment they’ll pretend

That they exist solely for me;

One day I wish I could become

Just like the things I love –

Like a diamond which outlives each owner,

Oblivious to touch, impervious to time;


You smile good-bye,

And I despise you

With every fiber

Of my heart:


Did you not tell me

That you loved me –

But just enough

To wish me luck?


You see exactly

Where I’m going;

You understand

I won’t return;


I value it

That you should trust me –

So blindly

You would watch me turn


To dust, and still expect

Next morning

To feel my hand,

In yours clasped tightly:


I’ll joke about the

Death I’d died and

Lie to your face

That all is fine;


Yet, when you even try

To stop me,

I simply laugh

Into your eyes;


No, not because

I’m mad and callous,

But because I find weakness



You should have listened

When they told you,

‘She looks it,

But she isn’t nice,’


Sadly, your heart

Did not choose wisely;

Sadly, you followed it

And now…


You can’t let go

Without it seeming

That you don’t love me

As you should,


Nor can you stop me

When I leave; sadly,

I can’t imagine

How you would;


What is it called,

This game of grasping,

Of letting go,

Of pain and patience,


A game

For miserable losers

Who play not with each other

But themselves?