Dear murderer,
I have been sentenced by you to a death
that will last the next forty years,
or less. Because of this, I was overtaken
by an uncontrollable rage,
and wished to hasten all the suffering
in the moment that just passed.
I wrote verses consumed by a hatred
unceasing toward your existence.
But not even to hatred do I lend myself.
And so, I wished you
far less than the torment I bear.
On the contrary, now I see myself
whole, standing before my sentence,
disproportionate though it may be.
Yet to you, I wish a fate
unlike mine.
For I shall depart this physical form,
sooner or later,
and with me shall perish
the songs I never sang
and those I once sang
for you. So may your sentence
be light, and not as cursed
as mine. May your hand never again
condemn another to such absolute failure.
I hope your mornings are not broken
by an unshakable gust of sorrow.
I hope your dreams are not stolen
by a preordained chain of nightmares
and suffering.
And on your happiest days,
may you never feel the bitter longing
to tell me you are happy.
May silence not suffocate you.
May your loves be true loves.
May your blessings be loyal
to the highest divine praise.
May your family never mourn
a lifeless body, unlike mine.
May you do good in this life,
and become unforgettable
as you were to me.
May time prove you were always right.
May I have been an accident.
And may the universe never again reproduce
its systematic errors in someone like me.
Amen.
Painting: The Water Ghost. Painted by Alfred Kubin (1877-1959).