Fruit of Oblivion

To forget the homeland,
with whatever familiar.
To forget that long war,
its deaths and mourning
and the scars impressed
in our flesh and souls.
To forget all the worry
and let the living live,
if and how gods please.
Let the dead get buried
by their dead, as once
a subtle poet dared say.

All such, nothing else,
the gift from the gentle
forgetful Lotus Eaters.
If we consider it well,
that looks so innocent.
But it was as a danger
as the song of Sirens,
the charmers of the sea
who were wont to arouse
by their winning voices
every trouble submerged
deep in our consciences.

I did prevent my mates
eating that sweet fruit,
offered to us foreigners
by the folk of that land.
Yet, I tasted it secretly,
as we were back on board
and the ship sailed off
those quicksand shores.
The billows calmed down
and the sky cleared too
before these raving eyes,
while a storm was going
to rage against my crew.

Still today not seldom
the effect of such a fruit
outshines my mind again.
It makes my memory fail
and myself like cut off
from any reality around.
Then, I do know my island
no more; even my worthy
wife becomes a stranger,
she weaving by her loom
and living with this old
sailor who lost his ship,
nor could save his crew.

I know, it will be a day
when I shall leave again,
with an oar on my shoulder
and a small sack of salt
held in the other hand,
got so forgetful at last
as to be not able to find
the way leading back home.
I will be no longer Ulysses
but a chap whose true name
is Nobody, lost in a people
who are ignorant of the sea
and do not speak my tongue.
A prophet foretold all that
once, in the realm of shades.