The Departure of the Prodigal Son

Rainer Maria Rilke

Now to go away from all this tangledness

that is part of us and yet not ours,

that like the water in old wells

reflects us trembling and ruins the image;

from all this, which as if with thorns

still clings to us--to go away,

and on this and this, so near at hand,

which almost from the first you ceased to see

(they were so common, so undemanding),

suddenly to gaze: tenderly, full of amends,

as if in a beginning and from up close:

and to see at last how without least malice,

how over everyone indifferently the hurt descends

that filled childhood to the brim--:

and then still to go, hand leaving hand,

as if you were tearing open a new-healed wound,

and to go away: where? Into certainty,

far into some unrelated warm land

that behind all action keeps its distance

like a backdrop--garden or wall;

and to go away: why? From urge, from instinct,

from impatience, from dark expectation,

from not understanding and not being understood:

To take all this upon yourself and in vain

perhaps let fall things firmly held,

in order to die alone, not knowing why--

Is this how new life begins?