Every child has known God:
not a God of names, or shapes;
not a God of do’s and don’ts;
not a God of alarming things;
but God who’s with you all the time,
can be talked with, silently,
because He understands all that you do,
knows just why you do it,
knows that you’re really always good,
but somehow do these other things;
you know that you and He are just so close,
that He’s always on your side;
And if He doesn’t explain to you
why He seems to go away somewhere
when you are seven or so –
maybe He thinks that it’s the time
for a game of hide-and-seek
between friends?
*
(extrapolated from Hafiz’ ‘The God who only knows four words’)
We have to get back to the garden, back to the source and origin of our existence. The child hasn't forgotten. It's the adults who lose their way! Fine poem, Michael. It gives me much to ponder!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As William said it is of course in adulthood that we lose sight; and in childhood, IMHO, unless indoctrinated, no name/attribution is made. From one who is losing sight, thank you. t x