Pillowman

In these flames I am reminded
of a story long ago,
when I was keeping to a quota
taking them to the othe side.
(Children.)
It all starts at the beginning
when I find a person,
that is crying, shivering
with a noose around their neck
a sharp razor in their hands
their heads stuck in gas ovens
awaiting lighting with a rod
or staring into an abyss.
In these flames I am reminded
of stories of a thousand men
only pain and only suffering
nothing merry, only worry.
(All the time.)
So I go back to the past
find them all years before
as girls and boys without any worries,
happy souls still with no borders.
I am soft so I can hug them
a pillow, so that they may lay
their heads into my soft lap
a soft hand through their hair.
I am a pillow, top to bottom
two pillows for my hands
pillow ears and pillow innards
pillow eyes and pillow teeth.
Take yourselves out of this world
do it, children, do it,
it’s time to kill yourselves
so that you don’t come to harm.
The pillowman will help you with it,
pillowman, soft just for you,
we’ll find a way to do it together
so we do it properly.
But what of parents, asks the child.
won’t they be so very sad?
It’ll look like an accident,
don’t you children worry.
There’s a pond with ice so thin
ther a pillbox with no lid,
there a busy two lane street,
with an ice-cream stall accross.
Here’s a bag that clenches tightly
round your head so you can’t breathe,
hear a plug and fork to stick in,
here a bridge that wobbles so.
But I did not always make it
I recall a little girl
who said: pillow, I’m too happy
for this kind of foolery.
But the next night there’s a rapping
at her door – knock knock knock
she says: pillow, let it go,
I’ll not change my mind just so.
‘Twas no pillow, ‘twas a man,
who kept coming years and years
and the girl grows up a woman,
takes her own life at her hand.
In these flames I am reminded
of this and thousands other tales
my own tale I last remember,
pillowman, the comforter.
(Pillowman.)
I sat down here at the brook,
when along comes little pillow
he just looked me over quick
and was fast to find a cure.
He spilled gas on his soft body
lit a match and said to me
in these flames he softly whispere
soon you’ll sleep quite easily.
When he disappears in these flames
little pillowman – or me
smiles and grins so very happy
cause he rid me of my worries.
(Death, sweet death.)
But then I hear round me, the horror
thousands and more thousands souls,
screaming, suffering and groaning,
live again from ‘neath the earth.
Since I died as little pillow
I never was the pillowman
killed no children, ended no lives
all of them remained alive.
And these lives, we know already
were just clumps of misery
only suffering, sadness, worry
they were better of – dead.
(Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead)

********************************************

Pouštr

V plamenih se spominjam
davne zgodbe, vrste let,
ko izpolnjeval sem kvoto
spravljaj jih na drugi svet.
(Otroke.)
Vse prične se na pričetku
ko poiščem tistega,
ki se joče, ki trepeče
zanko krog vratu ima
ostro britev v roki stiska
glavo v šporhet si tišči
s štango k nebu čaka bliska
ali v prepad strmi.
V plamenih se spominjam
zgodb teh tisočev ljudi
le bolest in le trpljenje
nič veselja, le skrbi.
(Na obroke.)
Pa se vrnem v preteklost
jih poiščem leta prej,
kor brezskrbne fantke, punčke,
srečne duše še, brez mej.
Spravite se s tega sveta,
dajte deca, dajte se,
čas se je ugonobiti
da ne pride vam gorje.
Pouštr sem od nog do glave
pouštra dva sta roki dve
s pouštrov ušesa, s pouštrov čreva
pouštri za oči, zobe.

Mehek sem, da jih objamem,
pouštr, da mi polože
glavo v naročje mehko
mehka roka skoz lase.
Pouštr vam bo tu pomagal,
pouštr le za vas mehak,
skupaj bomo ugotovili,
kako se, da ne bo napak.
Kaj pa starši, vpraša otrok,
mar ne bodo žalostni?
Zgledalo bo kot nesreča,
nej te to nič ne skrbi.
Tam je ribnik s tankim ledom,
tamle škatlica tablet,
tamle cesta, kjer drvijo,
preko nje pa sladoled.
Tu je vrečka, ki oprime
glave se nadvse tesno,
tu vtikač in tu pletilki,
tale brv drži slabo.
Vedno mi pa ni uspelo,
spomnem se dekletca, ki
mi je rekla: srečna pouštr
sem preveč za te reči.
A že drugo noč potrka
ji na vrata – tok tok tok
reče: pouštr, raje pusti
spet odšel boš praznih rok.
Ni bil pouštr, bil je moški,
ki je hodil vrsto let
in dekletce v punco zrase,
si hiti življenje vzet.
V plamenih se spominjam
te in tisočero zgodb
svoje se nazadnje spomnim,
poušter jaz, blažilec usod.
(Pouštr.)
Tu na breg sem se usedel,
kar prišel je pouštrček
enkrat me je le pogledal
in je hitro našel lek.
Se polil je s kerozinom,
in vžigalico prižgal
v plamenih zdaj presrečen
pravi, sladko boš zaspal.
Ko izginja v plamenih
pouštrček – jaz sam – gori
vidim: srečen se nasmiha
ker me rešil je skrbi.
(Smrt, sladka smrt.)
A tedaj zaslišim – strašno
vse krog mene tisoč duš,
ki kričijo in trpijo,
znova žive izpod ruš.
Ker kot pouštrček sem umrl
pouštr nisem nikdar bil
nič otrok ne ugonobil
vsak od njih ostal je živ.
Ta življenja pa že vemo
so le skupki bolečin
le trpljenja, žalost, beda,
bolje jim bilo je – hin.
(Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim.)