The Art of Marxism: poetry
Midnight the last bus,
The tickets are bought.
There is no bad news waiting for me at home,
Nor is there a feast.
Seperation awaits me.
I walk towards separation fearless
And without sorrow.
I am very close to the great darkness.
I can watch the world now,
Calm and comfortable.
A friend's deception does not surprise me now,
The knife he stabs me with as he shakes my hand.
Useless, the enemy no longer scares me.
I have gone through the forest of fetishes
Chopping,
How easily they fell.
I looked again at my beliefs
Many thanks most of them were pure.
I had never felt so purified before,
Nor so free.
I am very close to the great darkness.
I can watch the world now,
Calm and comfortable.
I don't lift my head from my work and look,
From the past before me appear,
A word,
A smell,
A hand waiving,
The word is friendly,
The smell is beautiful,
It is my beloved waiving.
The invitation of memories no longer saddens me,
I have no complaints about memories,
There is nothing I have complaints about anyway,
Not even about my heart
That aches without end, like a huge tooth.