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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Met an old potter today after crossing the forest;
Old enough to lift the clay that was seeing him
For a long time, with water turned vapour now
And holding still to the air that touched it long ago.
And he greets me saying ‘here comes the mad man,
Here comes the one who couldn’t water the clay’.

Only the heart knows the dream it lives and loves,
Amid springs and falls that the river breathes.
Such emptied souls that multiply more emptiness
Such unflinching evenings and darkness around.
The potter, the wheel, the clay and the aged art
All will now shape this soul for sure salvation.

The decadence of those smiles will lure the obscure;
And the mad man will walk to find again the same clay.

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