I'm off to warmer climes for the weekend, so my poem arrives a few days early. I hope that all you faithful readers find yourselves in the safe surroundings of home and family for the remainder of the vacation. The work week and the routine life will return all too soon. Enjoy the simple pleasures while they last, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Trajectory
An arrow cannot find its distant mark,
as in a rush of iron-feathered flight
it intersects the kingdom of the lark,
unless an archer ushers it aright
and sets it off, upon a certain track,
ascending from the taut and furled cord,
with swift release and merciless attack
to lift it over warrior and lord
and take its target with a windy kiss,
though none can tell the closeness of its course,
or whether it is like to win or miss,
except the fool, stricken so by force.
But you, the archer, escort of the sky,
I tell you of the fool: it is I.
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8 comments:
Beautiful.
Thank you, Oddyoddyo.
"take its target with a windy kiss," - that is amazing - i really like this one.
I know things...
I know things, too... What do you know?
And thanks, Joaquin. That's my favorite line, as well.
I know more things than you. The March Hare knows a thing or two and I, myself, don't need a weathervane to tell which way the wind blows.
Cioara Andrei---you are a very mysterious person. Unless you are a piece of spam, I hate to doubt people, but sometimes I wonder...
Sorry, I don't read Romanian...
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