Wouldn’t it be easier
if love and hate
would be only white and black;
if life would be simple and plain
and I wouldn’t still be attracted
to that which frightens me
and causes me pain?
When does a pleasure
lose its charm
- does it, ever, at all?
Does all the joy
have to turn to gall
and for how long,
before I can transcend both
or
I’ll never be free
from some type of happiness
and some form of sorrow?
What I’ve offered, my Lord
- has it been taken?
If I have surrendered,
has it been accepted?
Will I be free of it;
will it finally be forgotten,
leaving my inner space
clear and open?
And if it keeps coming back
is it because
it hasn’t been
or cannot be like that?
When you came
I didn’t know
that my whole life
until then
was a preparation
for your arrival…
but I smiled.
If I knew that coming
also signaled
the beginning of an end
- that you’re bound
to soon again depart -
maybe I would have cried!
And now after you’ve gone
I mourn your leaving,
miss you, long and yearn,
instead of throwing a party
in a celebration of a certainty
of your impeding return.
May I be forgiven
because I don’t see
that things are not
how they appear to me:
viewing them differently
honestly requires
some mental gymnastics
and doesn’t come naturally…
The laws of karma
and quantum physics
really do agree:
everything in this world
is so damn relative
and not as it seems!
To create a lunatic,
give a human being
a uniform, a title,
a crown or a hat
- it’s often as easy
and as quick as that.
It rapidly gets overly “involved”,
splits its mind,
mutilates its heart
and sells its soul
to an illusion of importance
and an obsession with the control.
It loses perspective,
detaches from reality
and drowns in a delusion
of being “objective”,
forgetting to believe
a simple gut feeling.
It attempts to rule
by imposing its might,
mistrusting the sight
of others’ plight
and forgetting
to serve all right.
The worst of all
is not that it ultimately
loses control
and is overthrown,
but that it cannot
grasp and accept
that it isn’t only “right”
and that it doesn’t always “know”.
With my little lamp
I attempt
to illumine
the whole sky…
though that goal
hasn’t been achieved
even by the Moon and stars.
With my tiny lyre
I try
to awaken
the whole world…
though such a feat
hasn’t been accomplished
even by God’s heavenly choir.
Is it enthusiasm
or is it greed;
is it foolishness
or is it a need
to touch and to know
myself
and it all…?
Did you ever try to imagine
what does a flower feel
when visited by a butterfly
or a bee?
How is it
to stay in one place;
bud and bloom
into a big smile
to the wind and rain
and sunshine,
wearing one’s loveliest dress
and exuding a sweet fragrance…
… calling, calling
- silently yet eloquently -
for a messenger to alight
and take a love-letter
to a beloved of one’s own kind?
Is that pretty face
tickled pink
with visitors’ tongues, noses,
bellies, wings,
fingertips and toes,
sharing its abundance
and its hopes…
… and deciphering
signs of love
from its distant beloved,
but bound to appear
to respond with a mere
courteous bow?
Once it gets
the longed-for gift,
it abandons its beauty
and withdraws within,
to multiply its delight
into a sweet fruit
and condense its joy
into a precious seed…
So many things I’ve said
- arrogantly, self-righteously -
as if I know the Truth,
or what’s “right”,
or what’s “better than that”…
But, I don’t know for real
and I don’t know for sure
- I only fluctuate
between a “confident”
and an “insecure”.
And sometimes I wish
it’s all “finished”
- perfect and complete -
no more struggle;
no more striving to be “elite”.
No more improvements
- better than good
and better than the best -
no ceaseless movement
but: a rest.
I don’t want a decline
but I’m tired
of growing too
- reaching and staying on a peak
would be just fine…
At least for a while.
But, then I’d whine
about that
- bored by confinement
and limitations
of fulfillment -
and look for “more”;
for challenges
and opportunities
to express and experience
something “different”…
If my days are numbered,
are my words also quantified,
like every heaving sigh
and every beat of my heart?
Are the grains of sand
in my hour-glass
still mainly in the upper part
or have mostly run out?
Not that I’m afraid.
- Just wondering
how much more
of wandering about…
Right now,
I’m at ease
both with remaining
and with dropping out.
It seems I don’t belong
to anybody:
neither to my mentor,
nor to my club;
neither to my friend
nor to my beloved one…
And my God is too subtle to be felt,
so He has to remind me
that I belong to Him
by showing me He is my one.
I’m a driftwood
on a stream;
a leaf and a petal
blown away by the wind,
suspended in the mid-air;
floating.
I’m detached from everything
except the fear of detachment;
the fear of being truly free.
But, I’d like to evolve:
it’s my persisting effort,
my enduring wish,
my first and last dream.
Why do I have
a dream of greatness
when I’m so small,
so petty
and so un-beautiful?
Why do I have
a notion of wisdom
when I think
and act
more like a fool?
Oh, Lord,
have I not
invented You
’cause somewhere,
somehow,
I am like that “Thou”?