The Comfort of Poetry
Sometimes, I feel like a bird hiding
Under a thin hollow of a leaf
The bird which blinks at the sun
When a branch moves and starts
At a crack of a dry twig
Sometimes, I feel so abandoned,
So tormented, surrounded by
The huge trees, by big clouds
Of a callous, cruel world
But when I remember my poems
I see little flowers out of the grass
Like floating lamps,
I can smell the sweet scent
Of lime trees in June
I can hear the skylark`s morning song
And many birds fly above my head,
Trembling, painfully drawing out
These profound truths
Which need an enormous effort
To speak out
But here they are, comforting me,
Telling me that heaven is
Divinely merciful, infinitely benignant
For it has spared me,
Pardoned my weakness
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