Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Sadness. Hatto Fischer


Weary eyes
follow birds fluttering to the ground
like airplanes having lost control
in denial of the law of gravity;
that is why men no longer answer,
for too heavy have become their hearts
or as the butcher's wife would say,
they are filled with stones
due to a crisis having plastered the road
with dismal outlooks into the future.
Who has thought love depends on money,
if not the alcoholic delivered into hospital
when making the remark next recession
more divorces will follow suit
as to what happened before
when marriages broke up
and children stared out the window
to see the father gone forever.
Top down motions are made by brachial force
to leave the men without money in their pockets.
And no one knows better than those writers
who observe that even the strongest of all men
is the weakest, if he has no penny to his name.
Success counts like a well lit neon light
above the entrance door of the casino in Las Vegas
but who has heard about the contortion girls from Mongolia,
if it had not been for CNN to distract from other news
like what happened in Syria on August 21, 2013.
So cruel is that date for exactly that same day in 1968
Russian tanks crushed the Prag spring
as if no flower should endure the hot summer months
and still shine, give scent, when autumn leaves
begin to colour a landscape called 'Niemandsland'.
Once there, nobody is sure where life begins and ends
since caught in-between the living and the dead.
Men have gone silent after they walked through Auschwitz.
Others are still remorseful for having pushed the botton,
if not to drop the bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
then over Viet Nam while flying a jet loaded with bombs.
As if the aggression of a humanity turned wild by own disbelief
in what could have been a sanctuary here on earth,
the paper tigers burn easily up if not in the sun,
then in raging forest fires showing the force of winds.
Wings to fly over oceans are needed if to reach
other shores long left behind by immigrants
leaving Europe for North America to pay their prize,
while migrants are smuggled everywhere into Europe,
if only to dip their faces in the sand if they ever make it
to shorelines not welcoming them like women
watching the horizon of the sea to see if the men return
from Troy like Odyssey did after twenty-five years.


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