They say I am a parasite.
How convenient it must be,
to reduce a life to a single word.
I tried,
day after day,
to be normal —
to wear the worn-out myth of normality
like a garment cut for someone else.
How does one erase half a century of pain?
How do you silence what has taken root
so deeply inside the marrow of your days?
I tried to be happy.
I tried to carry light into this ailing world,
to prove that happiness was still possible,
as if joy were a flag I could raise above the ruins.
I failed.
Pain has not passed.
It does not belong to yesterday.
It lives here,
quiet, constant,
a second heartbeat beneath my own.
I am forever in pain.
wersja nr. 2
They call me a parasite.
As if a life
could be folded small enough
to fit inside a single word.
I tried to be normal.
Each morning,
I pulled that word over my shoulders
like a coat left behind
by a stranger.
It never fit.
Tell me—
how do you remove
fifty years of pain
when it has already learned
the shape of your body?
When it sleeps inside your bones
like winter beneath a field,
waiting.
I tried to be happy.
Carried small lights in my hands.
Held them out
to a world coughing in the dark.
I thought joy might be enough.
A match.
A window.
A bird refusing the storm.
I was wrong.
Pain does not leave.
It changes rooms.
It learns new names.
It sits beside me at breakfast,
follows me into sleep,
places its hand
over my hand.
Some nights
I mistake it for company.
Some mornings
for myself.
The years pass.
The pain remains—
quiet as dust,
faithful as blood,
a second heart
beating
beneath the first.
They told me yesterday that I am a parasite.
Born as one, they said —
as if the fault were already written in my first breath,
as if my existence itself were a theft.
According to them.
And yet I am only a human being.
Only that.
No more, no less.
Just like them —
or so they claim.
I hope not.
“
Przypominam sobie pewne poruszające popołudnie i drobne zdarzenie, niemal banalne, które sprawiło, że długo rozmyślałem nad tym, co nazywa się „znaczeniem chwili”. Znaczenie chwili? Pozwólcie, że parsknę śmiechem. Chwile naszego życia znaczą tyle, co garść popiołu.
Article Source: momblogsociety.com
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