Passages Poem by Cristina Gheorghe

Young women are small, Japanese rock gardens
Waiting in silence to be discovered,
Hiding their ancient mystery of grace,
Their effervescent waters
Flowing down swiftly into waterfalls,
Covered by stone, arched bridges
Which stand aligned to guard
The subtle scent of little known flowers.

Middle aged women are proud, Byzantine churches
Whose beauty has been celebrated
With age-long rituals of light and incense,
Chanted by deep and resonating voices,
Who thrilled with their joined harmony of sound
The cold and darkly coloured stained-glass windows,
And closed the solid, quiet world inside
From sparkling free or crushing waves of life.


Old women are Tibetan monasteries,
Half hidden in the sliding clouds,
Half frozen by the mountain snow,
Which has preserved their old supporting walls.
Small, chiming bells are calling forth all prayers,
Their calling a faint echo in their hearts...
For at that height, above the worldly realm,
Their passage on is much too near.