The fruits of a tree

Like a dazzled dream I was roaming

keeping the temperature low, so I did not burn myself,

wandering beside me, playing two roles in one life,

one for people, and one for myself


Those dazzled thoughts now remind me of my youth,

a youth pushed ahead from outside, when I

stumbled through the glorious space filled with feelings without knowledge,

stumbled, right into the garden of seeing and admiring


There I've found it, One mind, divided into two sources:

the ornate light is one, turned on by human beings,


And fire's the other, lit by the hands of the invisible sun,

although the path is in darkness, warm light is not absent


The fire is: apparently too hot to be touched without consciousness,

needs much effort and material to be kept on burning;

the light: possible to switch on and off, as you like it,

it lacks the honesty, and the infinity to be a real alternative


The fruits of my tree, fuelled, are falling down in every season

from a growing tree, wavering, heaven bound, burning within,

almost chopped down by the hands of the doubting I,

but standing, still with the support of its inner trunk,


The fruits have found hands to catch them,

to pick them up, even on rainy, cold autumn nights, her hands,

hold back the destructiveness in the nature of me,


She draws pictures, explaining that tillable garden

where many trees stand


by Jan Opielka

PrintPrint top

Valid XHTML 1.0! last updated:: 2004-06-17 21:45