My Album of Poetry
  Reflections - Page 2

Illness

Fluß

Illness is a masquerade

It is a small war.
If we are not complete in our soul.
It dances the veil dance with us -
and lingering illness is her victory.

no matter how we admonish in Latin spell
- it is one like the other
whatever word we take to frame this pain
- it shows us new courses,
and frees the soul.

It's the healing from the pain of our soul
to which she points untiredly.
Envy eats the dress of our soul…
Haste and greed expand themselves
and promise much mischief.

FlußThe human practices in impatiency
and falls ill deeply in his mind
and always seeks guiltyness at the others
and makes some cults from his errors
but it is the illness, which flowers.

Illness is not our enemy - but our physician
it's you who you has ordered "this natural doctor".
If ignorant and deaf we are
lingering illness points to the last door
to escape from our blunt world.

Pain speaks a clear language
it murmurs and whispers you into your heart.
They are the guardians of your soul
for it's dress might not be stolen...
and they accompany you in this holy mission
they do not drive a joke.

Thus listen well - your life runs through,
before you send him away,
where the pain burns inside your body
because it knows about the errors of your thinking
- where you suffocate yourself.

The pain which you suppress
the ignored inner voice -
is the informant who is sent to you,
who looks deep down into your heart's depth
because you did not listen…

The human is an odd creature
always in a rush and in haste.
It bends itself to unworthy loads in greed
to gain security and golden wealth
and it will never take a rest.

But if you come into the peace of your heart
illness will dissolve soon.
All agony and pain will shrink,
and thus released also your heart will recover -

... and your life will flower again in full bloom!

© Regina Franziska Rau
08. February 2003
Deggendorf, Bavarian Forest

 

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