Now that I stand here, some time has passed,
And I got back to the beginning of things,
Acquired all that’s common to wish
In the place I’m coming from:
I have a job. Appreciation.
A family. A room of my own.
I don’t have to live on bread and milk alone,
Nor standing in lines for chicken bones—
For one still dreams lukewarm comfort
Behind their purple hyperbole,
A fuzzy, neverending project
No one knows who ordered or what was the original plan,
While tallying the deadline on their skin,
And it’s just enough not to remember:
Happiness is not an end but the means.
Now, that I stand here and have nothing to do with
What I wanted to be or could have been,
And I can maneuver in this half-state my whole life,
At a comfortable place I don’t relate to
And I have no idea what kind of place
Would be the right one for me,
Now, that I have where and whereof but no wherefore,
I could say I’m lucky;
I’m young, left my goals behind
And got back to the beginning of things
To the undefined curiosity
Where I wanted to be someone,
Not someone honoured,
Not some valuable human resource,
Not a my-child-is-to-be-someone,
But the kind of person that counts;
To draw a deep breath, let my voice out, let it ring,
To sing about the beauty of the world,
That there’s no meaning in suffering,
Because a wolf is no man to wolves,
only humans are in pretense imprisoned.
Just to poke a bit, deconstruct
Progress, this leftover moldy myth,
systems, relations and burdens—
given we couldn’t make it for thousands of years,
and have no way of learning to live again.
I don’t make plans. Let me be or stay
A blind spot for myself, the mirror’s dark side,
Can’t see before, can’t live behind,
Why care who believes what unto me,
Why care, I am, if not then not,
Too late to run, to stay is in vain.
Too late to run, to stay is in vain,
What doesn’t kill you will determine.
translation: Zsuzsi @ letters from the green room
original: megtanulni élni