Thursday, 16 April 2009

The Blades of Every Crisis

A Dream of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.
There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go.
Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it..
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.
I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

I had this running around day last tuesday. Then met with my good old friend Ali to go to a cocktail where we survived for some time till smoke took us apart(why do people still smoke?). He left me to the funicular and although I was so tired of thinking about my beautiful Mary Oliver poem that I discovered before the flat it self and whether to leave or not to leave the flat now, I didnt tell a word that evening. My constant eating must have told him about the way I feel, he was unusually supppotive that night. And while we were saying goodbye, he asked about the latest situation on my job and the rented dream flat and I said "my home was beautiful..". He said "you'll make a more beautiful one.."
Then I remembered how wise he was in telling this and the good architect that he has been. The flats they have made with his creative wife in time. How many homes have they had.
Thatanswer stopped me and woke me up.
Isn't that what life is all about? Starting over
Who ever made music of a mild day?
So the day after I was changed. I started this beautiful butterfly cross-stiching kit. Had the call I was waiting for, for a further interview.

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