I must have been born some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against my will.

I must have been born because I have this body coiled around me.

I must have been given shape some day,
some time ago;
molded into something
my soul doesn't recognize.

I must have been given shape because I have this body coiled around me.

I must have been held in motherly arms some day,
some long while ago,
because I remember her saying
that she can take away this life as easily as she's given it.

I must have been held because I remember how many times I cried and asked to be held.

I must have been crawling some day,
many scraped knees ago,
through the broken glass of
always feeling so small.

I must have been crawling because my knees hurt so very much.

I must have been walking around some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against the frigid wind.

I must have been walking because I remember that unforgiving blizzard.

I must have been swimming some day,
some time long past,
somehow,
holding on to dear life.

I must have been swimming because I have saltwater deep in my lungs.

I must have been running some of those days,
awhile ago,
from something
I keep trying to forget.

I must have been running because I feel so very out of breath.

I must have been given a body some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against my will.

I must have been given a body because it is suffocating me.

Because I don't feel welcome in it.

Because I don't feel safe in it.

Because my very soul wants to destroy it.

Because I don't want the memories it shelters in its bones.

I must have been given a body because it is forever coiled around me.

I must have been given life one day because I want to give it all back.

She can not understand
how much a heart can desire
something it never had.
Those little hands and little toes
soft coos and a tiny, button-nose.
Wrapped in white, an angel sleeping,
peaceful and drowsy,
with all the angels waiting.
With hands that don't know how to stay
and cries are all to communicate,
a darling angel grows and cleaves,
relying on one for all she needs.
And wherever in Heaven she may be,
your lonely mother waits for thee.

EARTH SONG
In that brief interval
Between first and final dust
Comes the song.

Lying supine in my crib,
With limbs flailing,
My curious eyes meet
Those of strangers
hovering above my cradle.

They sing softly to me
And I am mysteriously calmed.

In time I too will learn to sing
The names of everything -
Of what to do and why
And learn to check the ragings
Of my feral heart.

Someday I will sing the day long -
Serenading the fruits of the soil -
Belting out tunes of celebration
Or chanting lamentations of loss and sorrow.

But now, lying in my cradle
With arms and legs flailing,
I listen with curiosity
To the mysterious music that comes
In that brief interval
Between first and final dust.

April, 2008

Walking down this busy street
Passing people I will never meet
I wonder how it got to this point
A time where I can have so much
And yet feel so alone

If I look back
Was it all my fault
That I am and have always been
On the the edge of everything I’ve seen

It started the day I was born
When that woman from whose body I was torn
Decided I wasn’t for her
And since that day I have wondered looking
for her again
In every woman I ever known
I have looked to be loved for that very first unconditional time

Perhaps in a way I am drawn to her because she too was cast aside by one who should have loved
in that echo I hear my own voice as well as hers
And in that two note chord there lies
the start of a song we both can sing

Who am i
Before i was born
What was i doing
In the mysteries of the unknown
Do i have a name
Where do i call my home
Did i say goodbye
Before i was gave birth by my mom.
Why did i chose my parents.
Who carried me first,
Who cleaned me up,
Who wiped my first tears
Who were my first friend
Why do i have to be in haste
Why do i have to die
Where are you taking me to
Am i going home ?

braided by burdens
hidden from the wandering sun
my cage was bronze, my voice frozen
only could stretch once i was
unbolted, unjolted, of all these poisons
soaking into my psyche at every moment
altering the shade of joy, door left open
reruns from the demons, another opponent
the drink so potent, my ego stolen
a wordy poet silenced to biological atonement

These are my modern English translations of ancient Greek poems and epigrams by Sophocles, including antinatalist poems and epigrams.

It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Never to be born may be the biggest boon of all.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oblivion: What a boon, to lie unbound by pain!
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How happy the soul who speeds back to the Source,
but crowned with peace is the one who never came.
—a Sophoclean antinatalist passage from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The happiest life is one empty of thought.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Consider no man happy till he lies dead, free of pain at last.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What is worse than death? When death is desired but denied.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When a man endures nothing but endless miseries, what's the use of hanging on day after day, edging closer and closer toward death? Anyone who warms his heart with the false glow of flickering hope is a wretch! The noble man should live with honor and die with honor. That's all that can be said.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Children anchor their mothers to life.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How terrible, to see the truth when the truth brings only pain to the seer!
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wisdom outweighs all the world's wealth.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fortune never favors the faint-hearted.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wait for evening to appreciate the day's splendor.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We need evening to appreciate the day's attractions.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Evening helps us appreciate the day's attractions.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since time dawned
only the dead have experienced peace;
life is snow burning in the sun.
—Nandai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Sophocles, Greek, translation, translations, English, antinatalist, antinatalism, procreation, contraception, contraceptive, birth, born, death, life and death, day, eve, evening, night, fortune, wisdom, wealth, truth, pain, mother, mothers, mother and child, children

#antinatalist #antinatalism #Sophocles