22.01.2007 - Enduring Light
met a girl - wrote a poem
lost her - wrote an elegy
here it is:
O Muses, hear my humble request. For I sought all my undeserving life to find the tenth of your kind, only to glimpse the eternal and infinite beauty of your songs. For I lost what I found and I will never be able to sing again. Lend me your hand – to write what should never be uttered by mere human tongue. For I know that my quest is bound to fail…
your touch gentle as the first sunbeams in the morning
your hair scented like the first flowers of spring
your eyes
gleaming brighter than the stars of the Milky Way
your smile cracks through the clouds and dispels the gloominess of winter like a ray of light
your touch, again soft and smooth, reassuring and invigorating atthe same time
your elegance in movement and speech, unsurpassed even by the nymphs
your kiss caressing my skin as gentle as raindrops of a mild late summer’s rain, calming and stimulating like the first tempest in autumn I like tempest. I like storms. I love everything that has to do with rain. But I lost you. The gift of your presence was taken away by the jealous destiny and I feel like Orpheus who turned around to lose everything he ever loved. Each step towards you took me even further away, so I cried out in desperation and dismay with my impossible quest. Then, again, I reach out for you like Tantalus – in vain. I pray to the gods to put an end to this torture but they turned their backs, unable to behold that cruel tragedy. I feel as if life were taken from me, as if I were forced to live with the ghostly shades by the river Styx – to cry another river in my grief.
Doomed to darkness because I lost my personal sun.
Sheer reason extinguished the fires of ourpassion. I was ready to conquer Troy and see it burn - for you. But like Ikarus I was bound to fail when the wings of my personal Amor were disassembled by the sun – melting the tender wax that hold them together. Now I sit here in thedarkness, grieving and watching the rose petals wither on the floor. I feelmyself wither. And crying. When I turn to the river Lethe, I add my tears tothe dark current, kneeling down to drink oblivion. But then I look at the watery mirror, the poor reflection of my sorry self, and I get a glimpse of theproud man I was before we were parted. Yet - the rain has ceased to fall. There is no hope of salvation nor redemption. One who’s seen paradise will never be allowed to behold that vision again. The last thing I remember before the dark waters surround me is a part of a poem – Orpheus’ Dream (by Edwin Muir) … At last we turn our heads and see The poor ghost of Eurydice Still sitting in her silver chair Alone in Hades’ empty hall …
°m°
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