Saturday, December 31, 2011

It's all about meat and milk, he says

It’s always as if something gets pressed through a sieve
In a huge silo and then drips into an old and cranky lunar lander

And all we can do is rumbling about small and big steps
Of those who pretend they can build castles in space

Or underwater claiming insistently they have the key
To the hatch in the roof, well not exactly to the hatch

But to the ladder to the hatch, which belongs to a brother
Of the farmer with the sieve in some country's hinterland

And I go for coffee with this farmer who only drinks tea
And ask him whether he ever takes a day off, at least

His cattle should have Sunday from time to time, to find a moment
Of joy in this world's beautiful nature, meadows and fields

Surrounding their place of production, milk, milk, milk
It’s all about meat and milk, he says, never mind the meadows

While he stirs in his tea with opaque eyes that always
Have a water film on surface but never cry because

He was raised that way as we were all in the one or the other
Time when we could still look at the moon with awe

Wondering why she grows and shrinks and in which direction
She encircles the world coming up from behind in pitch-black nights

While we were chauffeured in cars by fathers from places to places
Gazing at the sky pretending to count stars but actually already then

Despising it all, the smoke of cigarettes blown into our minds and the urging
Questions again and again being unheard because we were told

We were too small to speak up so we learned to be patient with sucking injustices
Contemporaneously blown away by the heroic doctrine to never give up

Breathing, breathe, breathe, take a deep breath and when you've inhaled
Long enough you will see everything turns out alright only that it doesn’t

On its own! Until one day we are sick of inhaling and stop breathing
Because it’s time for us to stop. Next thing we know is we find ourselves

Next to cattle
On the moon.