The 8th Generation
The 8th generation of cats has been born.
As it has always been,
The milk is limited.
The space is limited.
They seek a first kiss.
Not milk, but the mother’s first lips.
The one who claims it first
Re-creates a new life for the days to come.
Pushed away. In a body struggle unseen,
I taste the holy water of the first nipple, yet I am pushed away.
Little by little, from that nest,
Little by little, I am pushed out.
Craving that kiss of first desire,
I draw near, but already,
Hunger has conquered my flesh.
I could never dare to gaze into my mother’s eyes.
Not even the blade-like lashing of her bitter tongue.
"Isn’t this what our life is?"
In the end, loaded onto a coffin,
Without ever getting drunk on the rich, milky taste of my mother,
I am sent away to my earth.
"Isn’t our life like this, too?"
In an era of material omnipotence,
In hunger and in fullness,
We do not seek out the baby kittens.
In the end, it is merely a designed pyramid.
The well-fed pig pursues a dream,
While the hungry pig longs to be full.
"Which class do we stand upon?"
Are we loach fish writhing in the muddy pit?
Or are we the grass blades
Dancing with the wind?
"We are all mere observers."
The living witness life,
The dead remember the fragrance of the primal mother’s milk.
I observe the new 8th generation of cats.
The 8th generation of cats observes me.
"If this alien dies, will we finally be free?"
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