I am a stranger in this world, & there is no one in the Universe who undertands the language i speak. Patterns of bizarre rememberance form suddenly in my mind, & my eyes bring forth queer images & sad ghosts. I walk in the desserted prairies, watching the streamlets running fast, up & up from the depths of the valley to the top of the mountains, where the snow & the clouds become one another; I watch the naked trees blooming & bearing fruits, & shedding their leaves in one instant, & then I see the branches fall & turn into speckled snakes. I see the birds hovering above, singing & wailing; then they stop & open their wings & turn into undraped maidens with long hair, looking at me from behind kohled & infatuated eyes, & smiling at me with full lips soaked with honey, stretching their scented hands towards me. Just then they ascend & disappear from sight like phantoms, leaving in the firmament the resounding echo of their taunts & mocking laughter. I am a stranger in this world. I am a poet who composes what life proses & who proses what life composes. For this reason i am a stranger, & i shall remain a stranger until the white & friendly wings of Death carry me home into my beautiful country. There, when light & peace & understanding abide, i will await the other strangers who will be rescued by the friendly trap of time from this narrow, dark world.
Sorry these words are not mine, but when i read them, i heard my thoughts that are similar
No comments:
Post a Comment