A lizard of prostration in my bones creeps;
My sober head and sluggish heart have ceased to fight;
Fast driving leaves me calm, my soul sleeps;
Sharp curves no longer chill my blood and cause no fright.

Love no longer grips my throat in a fit;
My nerves are numb, I feel no pain when I am hit;
My nerves like washing lines are hanging loose,
And I don’t care if I win or if I lose.

I get a blow
And, distressed,
I go to pot.
Only “no”
I possess
And only “not”.

I drink no longer ice-cold water from a spring;
No one and nothing no longer make me dash;
My bow’s lying uselessly as I have torn its string,
The furnace turned my broken arrows into ash.

I strain no muscle and no sinew, feeling slack;
I’m not inspired with the chance of an attack;
Like glass I am transparent, soft like wax
And inconspicuous, like linen made of flax.

I get a blow
And, distressed,
I go to pot.
Only “no”
I possess
And only “not”.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Sores ache no longer and my scars give me no pain,
And sterile bandages protect my wounds and seams;
In my indifferent, unconcerned and listless brain
There are no questions, no thoughts and no dreams.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

The fight with gravity I lost - it cooked my goose;
I’m lying flat, thus, staying farther from the noose;
My heart is jerking, so strange and so slow -
It’s time to join the netherworld of “not” and “no”.