I put the teacup down,
looked up from my book;
and whatever calls the eye
then called to me:
a cobalt blue glass jar
in front of a Chinese yellow vase
that seemed to hold between them
the secret of the universe..
the mind whispered, that’s just not true..
it couldn’t be that simple..
I dared to look again: now
it did not matter whether it were
the secret of the universe or not… for
it was enough. It is enough.
and there, perhaps,
and that, perhaps...
Most interesting is it not? There are times when fascination with a single object, view or singular thought seems enough to carry one through a lifetime.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A little flash of enlightenment perhaps? What inspires a poem is so often just a trick of the light, or an unusual absence of sound or maybe 'that place' tapping you on the shoulder. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥