The first poem on Mars

mars 24, 2009 kl. 11:00 e m | Publicerat i Skrivande | 3 kommentarer

How can they sleep on a night like this,

when we’ve finally made it through?

My comrades, so tired, so awfully tired.

Hello, what is wrong with you?

Am I the only one with energy left

after this historic day?

Tomorrow, who cares about tomorrow?

It is now that we are alive.

I look out the window and speak to myself.

Nobody gives a shit.

They’re asleep

and Houston is out for lunch.

I’ve got sand on my boots,

red sand,

red sand.

I’m on Mars

and I ain’t got nuthin’ to drink

but water and juice.

It’s a joke.

They should have allowed us to bring alcohol.

Security risks, my ass.

It’s not like we’re teenagers in space or sumthin’.

We could’ve handled it. We are reliable, we are responsible.

They trusted us to deal with the gazillion-dollar spaceship and this multi-million-dollar tin can cabin that we from now on call home, but they couldn’t, they just wouldn’t, let us bring one bottle of champagne to celebrate with.

Fuck Earth people!

We Mars people rule!

Yeah!

This is our planet.

Well, I’m the only one awake, so I could even call it my planet.

Right now, I’m the most intelligent creature on Mars. I fuckin’ rule. Yeah.

Maybe I should go to bed too.

It’s been a hard day.

Or maybe I should wait until sunrise.

We all watched the sunset.

Now, I can be the first human to watch a sunrise on Mars.

I could write a poem about it.

Then, I would become the first poet on Mars.

Isn’t dawn coming already?

Yes it is.

I’d better hurry.

Space suit. Check.

Space helmet. Check.

Non-approved behavior. Check.

Air lock. Check.

This sand.

This red sand.

It’s all mine.

This is my planet.

It’s my planet.

You’ve come a long way, baby.

If they could all see me now, huh?

I don’t even know which direction Earth is right now.

I couldn’t care less.

What matters now is me, Mars and the Sun.

Come on, Sun.

I haven’t got all day.

I gotta get some sleep before breakfast.

The first breakfast on Mars.

I would love to have pancakes.

Me, Mars and pancakes.

That would be nice.

The Sun.

Holy mother of God.

Come to me.

This.

I couldn’t have imagined.

It’s so beautiful.

Shine on, baby.

Shine on.

You.

I love you.

Please, shine on me.

Yes, shine on me.

I salute you

and I stand before you

naked

soon,

just a minute,

hang in there,

yes,

naked I stand

before you.

It’s so cold

and the air is so thin

I can hardly breathe,

so I must kneel

before you

and write you my poem

with my finger

in the sand

F R E E

A T

L A S T

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Håkan Tendell