The Green
It can happen like this:
Each day your world grows
More colourless, and all savour
Tends to harsh, dusty taint.
Anger and bitterness creep in—
You see the world with anguished,
But keen, eyes. In the end
One day you die—the pain
And bitterness leave you, and
Instead you float, you drift,
A husk.
And
then at dawn
After the longest night, you wake
And walk down to the spring.
There you stoop to drink and
The water is not less bitter than
Before, only you do not taste
The bitterness. As you walk on
Your eyes are blurred, not keen,
All you notice now are details—
The flower, the bark pattern—
Hills, ranges are out of reach.
And little by little the green steals
Up on you and you sense it,
Green in the brown land, though
You never can see it whole.
Your footsteps take you nowhere
And your life is harder by far
Than it ever was before, only
Your heart is empty—you have learned
To feel nothing, but your sense
Is wholly in your new sight,
Your new trust, the hand you
Can reach out.
Your
thought belongs
Nowhere, as truly it never did.
