Some poems, which are only thoughts, do fade away
if you do not immediately write them down,
others do keep gnawing at your thoughts
and they do drive you mad and sweep you along
to come out on paper and in ink,
to in brightness find a life
and with this kind of thing I do stay astonished
as words and words do pierce through me
that by themselves indicates the plans and layout
where by themselves they do build walls of comprehension
as if at any time and place skyscrapers want to rise
with machines digging by themselves the holes of the foundations,
mechanical chisels and drilling-drills more solid than gravel and rock
do by themselves note down the lines of pleasure and meaning.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem