Rather, move away into the distance

There's no need to craft false opinions about me
or hollow praise;
better you should step away from me entirely.

The one who knows nothing of my longings
never enters my dreams—know this.

I truly don't know myself properly.
And even on happy days, why
do some old sorrows knot themselves up
and lodge so tight near my throat
that I cannot swallow them despite trying so hard—
I have no explanation for this.

Some days I want to weep,
yet instead of tears, thoughts of kingdoms crowd within me.
And I try to believe
that in this throng of thoughts all desires will surely be lost—
those desires born of unsated longing;
those desires born of visible truth;
those desires born of obscurity;
those desires born of failing to understand something simple a second time;
only to discover with wonder
that desires don't disappear—rather, I am the one who vanishes.