Thursday, April 29, 2004

Of course, if I were to leave, those I love would learn to get by. My intellect tells me that this worry is silly and childish. My emotion says otherwise. I don't like the thought of my absence inflicting pain. Of creating holes in hearts. Of making me feel how I did when my grandmas died, when friends have passed away. Of course, there is the fear on my side of being torn from every one and every thing I'm attached to. (All life is suffering. Eschew all attachments.)

These thoughts have been coming to mind more lately with the events that transpired back home. Not productive to worry, but I still do very much.


Einmal wenn ich dich verlier,
wirst du schlafen können, ohne
dass ich wie eine Lindenkrone
mich verflüstre über dir?

Ohne dass ich hier wache und
Worte, beinah wie Augenlider,
auf deine Brüste, auf deine Glieder
niederlege, auf deinen Mund.

Ohne dass ich dich verschließ
und dich allein mit Deinem lasse
wie einen Garten mit einer Masse
von Melissen und Stern-Anis.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Slumber Song

Some day, if I should ever lose you,
will you be able then to go to sleep
without me softly whispering above you
like night air stirring in the linden tree?

Without my waking here and watching
and saying words as tender as eyelids
that come to rest weightlessly upon your breast,
upon your sleeping limbs, upon your lips?

Without my touching you and leaving you
alone with what is yours, like a summer garden
that is overflowing with masses
of melissa and star-anise?

-Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

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