Behind these locked doors: quietness and well-being,
outside: the agitation of existence, and a terrible storm!
My small fluffy-white dog is fast asleep, curled comfortably
on my lap; the other fluffy-white dog—the big, furred Samoyed,
though blind, he closed his eyes and sleeps as soundly as
this little one here. The brown one, though half-paralysed,
he is relaxing his all four legs; and all three, take peacefully
their respiration. Even the parrots in their cage, this time of day,
sleep with the beaks in their plumage of blue and yellow-green.
I look at the aquarium: he is not there! —the only fish left! —
the flat cleaner, always working, glued to the glass like a leech,
always working: this time of day, even he is sleeping
inside a large sea-snail shell—ornaments to match his habitat:
it must be the weather...
The palm-tree leaves, like agitated shadows, bend...
bend on the rhythm of a chaotic wind projected onto the door;
but, I managed to save the dark-pink rose this morning;
and now, few hours later, she unfurled her beauty: I think,
she is happier here with me, with the dogs, the parrots, and the fish.
I look at the pine-tree I planted in a large pot this winter,
which I decorated as a Christmas-tree—I think he is happier now, too: green in his simplicity, in his natural beauty—
(Is it a boy or a girl?)
probably a boy...he is tall, vigorous, upwards stretching his branches:
he does not need bracelets, globes, stars, angels, and lights
to feel handsome, I guess...
‘Why do you write this? ' —Ah...! —the inner voice!
Probably she feels ignored as I immersed myself
in the simple, authentic awareness of the present moment;
Ah…she wants me back in the past; in torments and agonies;
she wants me to correlate everything with it;
she wants me back in illusions and obsessions; or,
she wants me to catapult into a mysterious future,
to wreck me with worries, and frighten me with fears;
she wants me to reduce and renounce my dreams;
she wants me to self-sacrifice.
Thus, the tranquillity vanished, disrupted by the interior voice
which suddenly asked me, ‘Why am I doing this? '
writing about my surroundings, about how it feels to be present,
with whole your being: —You see, now I divagate
from my initial trajectory—I have to answer the ‘Voice, '
wondering if it belongs to me; and, if ‘yes, ' then why is she
an antagonist—disrupting my serenity—and thus I find myself
engaged in a dialog, and I almost forgot about my dogs,
my parrots, my fish, the weather outside, and
the agitation of existence—like my own agitation!
Now, I am aware that I am writing:
she disturbed me immensely! —now another parallel dialog
emerges: —Oh! ...the rational...the practical!
Being aware that I am writing, now, I have to be aware
of what, and how I am writing—and the stream of consciousness:
—it is gone! —there! —
All because of my inner voice!
And thus the tranquillity vanished, disrupted by the interior voice which suddenly asked me, Why am I doing this? writing about my surroundings, about how it feels to be present, ...an emotional expression on thought and consciousness. Beautiful poem. thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mind is flowing like clouds, like a stream..all waves are nicely captured..fine expression..10+