You try your best to steep in the fathomless silliness,

Seeking to no avail what is not so much as a twinkle

In your father's eye and, what’s more, will scarcely

Come into the world some day. That’s why you head

For a blind catch—your own pitfall between the hell

And heaven. Time and again I urge you to launch

Your urgent recovery of insight, but, as before,

You are suspicious and stubborn as an only child

Who builds his sand castle to dwell. Unwilling to trust

And accept all arguments of mine, you turn your back,

Now and then, getting stuck in your endeavours

To embrace the unembraceable. When time will come

And the void gulps you back, biting into two halves,

You will at last realise that your strife is nothing else

But your torturer and kidnapper who twist you round

As they see fit, and that’s it. What else could be said

Except the fact that I have humped them both

On my old shoulders for a very long time now. . .