the panther (by Rainer Maria Rilke) – and its claw marks on me

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,

has grown so weary that it cannot hold

anything else. It seems to him there are

a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,

the movement of his powerful soft strides

is like a ritual dance around a center

in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils

lifts, quietly—. An image enters in,

rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,

plunges into the heart and is gone.

—————————————————————-

This is one of the few poems – (the first one ever is “Evening Star” by M. Eminescu) that made a huge impact on my mind.

Enigmatically, it is naming the suffering, to that tiring state of restlessness. “The Panther” was leaving visible paw trails in the muddy unfree state I was forced to live in. The trail led in one direction. Slowly I followed, only to lose it… Watch it get washed away by the sea, the morning mist, or the approaching night…

Funny, how phases of my life perfectly resemble  poems. 

A similarity causing so much resonance within me – my personality/ego/self-image – so strong, so violent, that it endangered my sanity and the undivided-existence-of-everything-I-am. 

Responding to the point where I got nearly shattered…

The cracking sound was clearly audible. Not only for me, but for everybody else. Audible in every word I said, every day I lived, every move I made – if anyone would have paid attention… If anybody had cared…
They would have heard the breaking, as a remarkably ordinary, high pitching and peculiar tone. Sometimes 
a crackling in my nerves and muscles, sometimes a beacon of pure imagination focused to burn a hole into the present reality…
A background noise in my pronunciation and language, mostly resembling to the chime of a distant banshee cry…
Nevertheless… A broken lil´ me skating the edge of destruction, refusing to give up…

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