Ilya Gutner
Siddhartha's Doubt

               “Suicide is the act of an optimist.”
                                – Friedrich Nietzsche.

You deceive me, you believe me,
But you’ll never outlive me,
Though you kill me, man, again.
I abhor you, I detest you
And yet still I cannot best you,
Cause I’m hanging you again.
Dust, dark, damp, heat.
I must repeat.

You foreswore me, you yet hoard me,
But you’ll never be lord o’er me
Though you rot and raze me, man.
I abuse you, I molest you,
Glut, gag, needle, whore, infest you,
And I’m wasting you again.
Hurt, haste, hands, teat.
Damned to repeat.

You defeat me, you impede me,
But you’ll never, soul, exceed me,
Though you starve to death again.
I explore you, I contest you,
Thought and merit both have blessed you --
But I’m optimistic, man.
Sweat, tears, rash, shit.
I still repeat.

You deplore me, you adore me,
You will never say you were me,
And you’ll wear these rags again.
I distress you, I duress you
Will I never, dirt, suppress you?
Must I live your death again?
Pride. Anger. Greed.
Must I repeat?

9.

I think of hell when nothing else appears
To take my mind away from that old place,
For me no dismal furnace, no cold pit of tears:
Only the dawning conscience of my race.
Why should I make a mockery of sorrow
Over the death that waits me when I die?
There is no terror in the grave Tomorrow:
Eternity is a platonic lie.
The Soviets taught well. You call those wild,
Dark superstitions басни,* but decide:
Is hell this side or that of suicide?
Consider, woman, heaven is your child:
Bear patiently, the pain will swell your joy.
But hell is harder to conceive than to destroy.

                  * Russian for “fables.” Pronounced BAH-snee

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