THE LAST VOYAGE

Like a straw man,

Hunted by gusts of wind

(in order to outrun death),

I am returning to the valley of my childhood;

To see the old home one last time,

To see the old walnut tree one last time,

under which my mother used to read

Mark Twain's wonderful stories to me.

Nothing is the same anymore, everyone is dead,

Apart from memories and the old walnut tree;

Its old, trembling, bare branches

are impatiently waiting

to hug me one last time.

When destiny leaves you alone in the dark;

When your mother and father leave you early,

all you have left are dreams,

Yes, my friend, life rolls along the road of dreams,

And each dream is finished soon;

Just one more time,

I'd like to touch the coarse face of the old walnut tree,

To find a long lost tear

below its tired feet.

When I started on this long voyage,

The night was bright, and our beautiful walnut tree cried,

Yes, my friend, trees can cry too;

Just one more time,

I'd like to touch the old walnut tree,

To cling my face against my old friend's face,

Like a beloved son,

To hear the happy voices of my mother and father;

When your memories fade, drop down to your knees

To feel how the earth loves,

So your memories can find their sacred sanctuary.

When they want to kill your memories, hoist your flag of dreams

And keep on marching your way, like a noble soldier of freedom,

Because few are the bohemians who are honored

To finish their voyage

In the place they were born.

Walter William Safar

A POEM TO MY BELOVED

If I had to lie down

Onto the black hearse instead of our love,

I would agree to die right away,

But hope is the last thing to die,

Yes, my golden one, I am living with hope

That Your tear, like the beautiful moon,

shall shine upon each letter,

each word, comma, exclamation mark and period of this poen,

as if it was the most honest of prayers.

My prayer is loud;

Like the prayer of an abandoned derelict;

Like the prayer of an abandoned child,

Like the prayer of a missionary in the valley of horrible hunger;

My prayers are searching for a sacred sanctuary,

To enter the cathedral above all cathedrals;

To enter your heart.

Just like a derelict is searching for bread crusts,

Just like a believer is searching for his communion wafer,

I am searching for Your kiss.

This prayer is my last hope

That Your tear shall slide onto my tear,

Into a world that is entirely ours;

A world into which the aureola of all human desires is born,

A world into which love is born.

In the darkness of a lonely night,

I am finishing this poem

With an inexplicable hope

That the time to say goodbye isn't here yet,

That our love shall not end on a black hearse,

That it shall live forever in our wonderful world,

In our hearts.

Walter William Safar

HOPE

It is dreadful to once again fail,

to sink into the dark of hopelessness,

As if someone fired a canon into your heart,

As if you have lost your interior,

As if you were empty like a straw man,

And you are helplessly waiting for the first bolt

To burn you completely,

So you disappear in a moment,

Much faster than you came into this world.

In hopelessness, all traces disappear. There is no light,

Just a black hole

Into which all young hopes are sinking,

Like newborn dreams

in the vast expanses of dark nightmares.

How nice it is to get hope,

Not dead hope,

But rather living hope, the hope that your life is an open story too,

That love may enter into your life too,

That success is reality to you too, instead of only vivid imagination,

That you know the victor's path too,

That you can reach the finish line before your own death.

It is wonderful to dream again,

Not black dreams,

But rather wonderful vivid dreams,

That hope has a place to anchor,

And isn't about to set sail before you wake up.

©Walter William Safar