Point of grace
And point of defiance:
In a hide and seek play
With the infinity.
You are the letter A, I am the digit one,
The two of us to hold the oneness alive…
The hardest way of cleaving in us is being done.
We started both with walking but ended in a dive…
We started up the journey, a rock and iron ball,
Two question marks in labor to be an exclamation!
We paid in love together the ageing heavy toll,
We sang along the ancient songs of adoration.
While being barked quite often by bulldogs of this age
No one will know how often we barked in full reply…
O, what a madding chaos surrounds us, what a rage!
Our quiet moments are shorter than a sigh…
But in the Lord, together, we’ll make it day by day,
With me the digit one and you the letter A!…
Behold, a lilac blossoms just a heart beat away
From all your preplanned holydays and feasts…
Open your eyes, my darling, it might be your day,
Listen to the dew in the morning, don’t grumble at least.
Behold, the sunshine knocks in the window glass
Echoing trough your half open eyes some story telling beams
From a long forgotten realm of a cheerful grass
And waters that flow in heavenly streams.
Behold, have some blue soil and my metaphor’s seed,
My poem is a new landscape for your rugged earth.
Let us say good bye to the empty words and greed,
Listen, there is a new galaxy crying for birth!
Tame the words, darling, keep them together and still
Don’t let them fly around at Parliament Hill!
Let’s run away, my darling, let’s run our days away,
This life’s a crucifixion, this planet is a cross,
Don’t speak a word this morning, don’t ever dare to say
“We’re gonna die!” don’t speak us unto loss…
Forget about the winters, forget those rocky hills,
Let’s run for hope, my darling, for our only hope,
Forget the empty freezer, forget those nasty bills,
We’ll never reach the ugly end of the rope!
There is a heaven, darling, our God is still the same,
Don’t ever mind the winters, don’t worry, don’t be sad!
But if the doors don’t open we’ll still enjoy the game
And hold our hands, my darling, before the firing squad…
Sounds of some sad steps, somewhere on the sixth floor
A lot closer, a toilet flash and a baby’s cry
Somebody just slammed a door
So that nothing may be new beneath the sky…
Sleepy walks, shy whistlers, dead traffic lights
Honking horns, sidewalks, some gone astray dew,
A street sweeper smiles as she cleans the sights
Of that old yawning moon… the day is new…
As I walk alone, carving the streets on my palms
Smelling the fresh fumes and diesel fuel
I feel like laughing and jumping, reciting the Psalms
I wear this city, brothers, this is my jewel…
But as I move in prayers to start the day afresh
I see the city flowing to wash away my flesh!
It seems like, timelessly happy, they are still there
Under the same linden tree, laughing their troubles away
Like they were here to burry those fossils everywhere
To prop the skies with the church towers, to plow the day…
I can still see their ages climbing afresh like a morning dew
Away from the trenches unleashing these hyper fairy tales
Under this shady linden tree nothing is old, nothing is new
These villagers are crossing from age to age, blazing the trails…
Sometimes they shepherd in their barren pastures some mysterious flocks
Sometimes they work their present from bad to even worse
Who can teach them to sing, or to throw the rocks?
They rode throughout history the same and only horse.
Who can teach them to dream through the short winter days
To carve their weddings to count their legends stone by stone,
The stars aren’t that bright, they say, nowadays…
They used to be closer together, now they shine alone…
It seems like always they are seeping their glorious wine
While sharing their timelessness under the shady linden tree.
Are you still there, sweet villagers of mine?
Don’t get your nightingales through speech therapy!
It was the day that seared all days, with trembling rocks and frozen seas,
No order was like this before, no words were ever mute like these,
Oh, what to say, or think, or do? Or where to find my inmost self?
Whose words are shaping and for whom, this day’s old, dusty shelf?
Was I to rot in cell by cell, created from the dust of dust?
Whose death is being sold today, whose birth will be the last?
Then why so many claim, before this shadow-filled sunrise,
That they are me in all of I and I am in demise?
You laugh, I see… Whose sigh you mock today and why?
This blue-grey hat you wear, my friend, how dare you call it sky?
This chaos that you claim it is an order of your will
Is nothing but a raging dark, an evil at stand still…
Then a sparrow chirped away this morning’s wake-up call…
What a blessing is to see the sunshine after all!
Something at Least…
Everything seems to be in its place…
You buy at overprice a pound of dirt
One dog and one man share a pace
And keep each other aware and alert…
The butcher’s daughter is playing the flute
I dig a well somewhere in the skies…
Something, at least, should be quiet and smooth
Something, at least, should be nice!…
The baby’s cry tells you the real price of milk,
Two destinies crossed each other at the traffic lights
There must be a common place for heavy metal and silk
And smiles, and cries, and stones, and gigabytes…
There is a forest somewhere in The Milky Way,
With shady valleys and happy creeks
“You’re dreaming too much”, some will say,
But I am only seeing what my inmost seeks…
Yes, everything seems to be in its place,
The moments fly over my head.
I used to talk to them, face to face,
Before letting them go or move ahead…
I used to dig wells in the stormy skies,
Something at least should be nice!