Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Under One Small Star

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
Your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
Forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, don't be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I plush the occasional threat from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman and each man.
I know I won't be justified as long as I live,
Since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
Then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

~ Wislawa Szymborska

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Puzzled

I keep trying to solve my life... not like a problem, but more like a puzzle.

I'm sticking pieces in empty holes to see if they fit. I started with the edges, like we've all be taught by experience. But now the edges are laid out all around me and I feel trapped, surrounded by fragments of things I barely recognize. Is that a piece of sky floating by?

Everything is just an illusion here... just cut-outs of dreams I can't remember. I'm fooling myself to think that there is a meaning, a greater picture in this mess. My life will always be just a collection of those lost jigsaw pieces missing from other people's almost perfect puzzles.

Abulia: the loss or impairment of the ability to make decisions

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I've stretched my consciousness before you like carpet, rolled from the nooks of my mind right to your feet. Now, no matter where you step, you can't avoid my words...


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