a way of looking: intro

Friday, October 5, 2007

intro

The poets, if they want it or not, they are the mystics' brothers, and as innocent, and as naive. They too remember more than one world, and hope to see the mirror lighting up in all what around them is doomed to be silent. Only they, perhaps, still know the formula. So many words, sometimes they find a place and everything becomes clear. The desire they are looking with. There is something in that desire that is of love. A hand too can but stay at the surface of the skin, but, imperfect as the touching may be, it is called caress. And the more caressed, the more the skin grows thin. There is a moment when everything is flowing, melted together. That moment comes.

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Are the words that we speak or write, our words or do we receive them? Is what we see and hear ours or is it given to us? Is the thin air that keeps us alive, a right or an act of love? And what is more real, the wonder of the beginning or fearing the end?

The poets, if they want it or not, they are the mystics' brothers, and as innocent, and as naive. They too remember more than one world, and they hope to see the mirror lighting up in all what around them is doomed to be silent. Only they, perhaps, still know the formula. So many words, and sometimes they find their place and everything becomes clear. The desire with which they are looking. There is something in that desire that is of love. A hand too can but stay at the surface of the skin, but, imperfect as the touching may be, it is called caress. And the more caressed, the more the skin grows thin. There is a moment when everything is flowing, melted together. That moment comes.