Tilli

I was curious as to how it would translate to English. I didn’t use many rhymes so as far as the rhythm goes, it should work. I still think it feels a little empty in English, maybe it’s just that a text always loses something in the process of translation. Anyways, here it is:

How can I ever write about the future
when it’s filled with hope
and makes my eyes flutter with white flames
while the outlines of my love for poetry
are dark and sharp on the edges.
Tomorrow is a celebration of optimism in the dawn
from which I am left with only
a champagne-flavored hangover.

I read from palms nothing but the sun 
till it gives me anxiety,
and luck
till my feet grow four-leaved clovers on every step.
If I tried to put my eternal joy into words,
I’d only get bottles worth of black ink
in which black thoughts bathe

I am terrified by my own finger tips
which leave their sweaty marks on everything
that I try to touch to make beautiful:
Origamis tear,
I scratch my own skin in an attempt to pet,
the person I healed returns to the sanitarium
and snow melts.
The last flake will be alone in the spring.

In my head, a beautiful poem about the light 
at the end of the tunnel
instead tells of a fallen lighthouse 
on the palm of a god complex
which no longer finds lost ships
but an upside-down heaven,
just as the coin I threw reflected light 
before falling into the well.
Then it sank, sank, sank
and sparkled in the terms of groundwater 
for one last time only.

From the future I ask for mercy
in the form of a beetle;
hug this ageless trembling from my fingers.
Maybe then
I dare to look directly at the solar eclipse
and brilliant shall be the story I write.