Did I then come to Malaga
To end a love I took to be eternal
As well as end myself in suicide.
Yet – ‘t is what occurred:
That love did break,
And having left her vast hotel room,
My mind lost all its poise.
The self thus barely balanced,
The suitcase weighing in one hand,
And battered pride, so heavy, weighing in the other.
I ended up in yonder station,
Seemingly still normal,
But contemplating my own end:
A forlorn ladder,
High up there and mighty empty,
Left there by window cleaners,
Having their smoke outside.
Stretching so celestial – up the Milky Way.
Climb up there, man, and jump!
Either down, into the pit;
Or straight into the bliss of heaven.
Or would I still be saved in that last minute,
And, like Old Ludwig,
push away those useless steps,
My naked feet glued to the bird’s,
And rescued by our antipodal gravity,
Suspended in mid-air – face down.
Perhaps even survive my lonesomeness.
Sierksma, November 2016