anna.kuzdra
01-15-2008, 02:21
I would like to describe the simplest emotion
joy or sadness
but not the way others do
reaching for rays of rain or sun
I would like to describe the light
which is being born inside me
but I know that it does not resemble
any star
because it is not so bright
not so pure
and uncertain
I would like to describe bravery
not pulling a dusty lion behind me
as well as anxiety
not shaking a glass full of water
in other words
I would give all the metaphors
for a one word
drawn out of my breast like a rib
for a one word
which is comprised
within the borders of my skin
but apparently this is not possible
and to say – I love
I am running like a madman
picking armfuls of flowers
and my tenderness
which after all is not made of water
asks water for a face
and anger different from fire
borrows from it
a loquacious tongue
so is mixed up
so is mixed up
within me
what the grey-haired men
separated once and for all
and said
this is a subject
and this is an object
we are falling asleep
with one hand under a head
and the other in the mound of planets
and feet leave us
and taste the earth
with small roots
which we tear out painfully
the next morning
joy or sadness
but not the way others do
reaching for rays of rain or sun
I would like to describe the light
which is being born inside me
but I know that it does not resemble
any star
because it is not so bright
not so pure
and uncertain
I would like to describe bravery
not pulling a dusty lion behind me
as well as anxiety
not shaking a glass full of water
in other words
I would give all the metaphors
for a one word
drawn out of my breast like a rib
for a one word
which is comprised
within the borders of my skin
but apparently this is not possible
and to say – I love
I am running like a madman
picking armfuls of flowers
and my tenderness
which after all is not made of water
asks water for a face
and anger different from fire
borrows from it
a loquacious tongue
so is mixed up
so is mixed up
within me
what the grey-haired men
separated once and for all
and said
this is a subject
and this is an object
we are falling asleep
with one hand under a head
and the other in the mound of planets
and feet leave us
and taste the earth
with small roots
which we tear out painfully
the next morning