About Pebbles And Silicon Dioxide Poem by Bela Schatz

For K.

In the summer, hot and dry,
I walked along with just a sigh,
thirsty, slowly overheating,
as it gave me a lovely greeting,
a stream of water, clear and cool,
shining like a polished jewel.

I stepped closer, listening
and every drop was glistening,
as the water, pure and clean,
flowed over pebbles, mossy green,
soft and smooth each one of them,
each even like a polished gem.

I pulled my boots of and stepped in,
feeling pebbles on my skin,
the water cooling down my feet,
as I walked over pebbles neat,
caressing my feet as I went on,
until one appeared I stumbled upon.

This one was special, not smooth at all,
angled, and pointy, and not even small,
a different color, a different shape,
on an instance creating on me a scrape,
making me wince, and wonder why,
this one special pebble now had come by.

So I bend down, and looked at it closely.
This specific pebble surely was lonely.
I picked it up, and raised it out of the stream,
as the water on it made it gleam,
a beautiful sight, which a smooth pebble could never create,
soon color didn’t matter, neither did angles or weight.

It had its own beauty, unique and unnoticed,
only seen by someone like me, so focused.
A fool may misjudged it on a first gaze,
but this one special pebble set my heart ablaze.
Me, who never had intrest in pebbles that much,
had woken up by this faithful touch.

Unable to turn my fascinated look away,
I would, on an instance, be under its sway.
So I kept it with me, leaving the stream,
It felt like a powerful, beautiful dream.
feeling every edge, every point, every notch,
I couldn’t do much but silently watch.

I took the pebble home, keeping it close
And then was so happy about how I chose
As I noticed a glimmer, a purpelish shine,
and kept on smiling, as it now was mine,
made out of an ore that most did not understand,
as they thought, at first view, it would be bland.

But I, I knew better, that was my luck
and as I realized I then was struck
as the nerd that I am, I understood what I found
it was already pretty, but now it was crowned
it was silicon dioxide, Agate its called
and I smiled that something like that I just hauled.

It did not need polish, however, I said
I would leave it like it was, I decided instead
knowing that inside, under the stratum
every single, complexe and beautiful atom
forms glittering layers, blue, orange and red
a view, once seen, you can never forget.

So I admired the stone, knowing its type
loving it simply for the kind to which it was tied
knowing about every single, lovely stripe
which, from facile fools, it would always hide.
I kept it, forever, never putting it away.
Just asked it, forever, with me to stay.