I've tried to juggle
the world and God
like they were two
balls in my hand,
but I am not
that clever,
or that strong.
Even huge St. Christopher,
the ferryman, could not
bear infant Jesus
across the river on his back,
because that infant carried
the weight of all the world.
One who'd think to juggle
He Who holds
the universe
within His being
is surely mad.
Ah, mad I've been
and mad I am,
mad with desire
and double-vision,
and only Love's precious,
living Light
will ever, ever
set me right.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Max this is a glorious poem. An humble, honest, confession about the tangle of mind and the crazy need of the human animal to rationalise that which is and that which might be. I don't think you've failed, Max. Not in a fit. In fact, I think the very opposite. There is no one so misguided as one whose beliefs are absolute. The world will always be of grey and mysterious. But the love remains. And the love is inside. Your short, uncomplicated lines serve to strongly embody the loving juggler you describe. Wonderful enlightening piece. love, Allie xxxx