When the internal dialogue
became just an image
every heart appeared more vivid
the nudity reflected by every heart was mine
wisdom and pain of those hearts that I felt in me was also their light.
Since then, I wash each slag,
I let go lightness, every weight.
I strip memories from the teachings
it’s the purpose, the path; now sense, color
education, and sound also.
Constant like the water falling from the mountains
from me I scratch off the sorrow of each doctrine,
in the dawn I jump off
– like a suicide victim from the bridge
who in the falling discovers the water near –
and I save myself, every time, in every moment
to say from inside of my immature body:
“I am saved!” “Once again!”
And those hands that deprived me
or that chest that made me an orphan
become an unusual mother
vitality and concreteness of the father
playful brothers and sisters,
sweet breeze of autumn.
I gently graze the waters
refresh the feathers, the pores,
the bleeding wings,
and with the belly full of solemn laughs
I rise to see and illuminate
all the dead ones,
all the living,
new and secular.
Paris, 2016 – Maria A. Listur
Nori Irto ph