søndag den 9. september 2012

Fire Poesi-piktugrammer

*1. In English.
*2. In English.
*3. In English.

*1. I feel that you are still the center of my longing. I like it that way. But my reason tells me that I have to make myself free of this image. Have to prepare myself that it may not be the way that life would want it to be. So in my mind, I push off. Let me sickles detached in to the arbitrary stream of spheres, bubbles and particles of the universe. A little lonely, a little careless, a little cold. It's not too bad. I can lose battle too.

*2. When I walk barefoot down the back stairs from the attic where I sleep. Feel the elegant anatomy of my feets receive my weight step by step. And when I after the mornings toilet wash my hands and see their elegant and sensuous dance around each other while the soap is distributed and then rinse again under the ever-fascinating running water that makes them blank. I can not help but feel that this life has a wunderful potential although it continues to beat me down and disable my dreams and longings.

*3. People tell me that I should let go of you. Let go and let you be. I do not think they understand what would happen if I let go. I would immediately fly away like an arrow from a taut bow. I would be at your door in an instant. I need to hold on in order to keep away from you. So if you want me to keep away from you do not ask me to let go. Ask me instead to hold on.