Innocence
Look at the trees:
so many of them
slowly dying. Their thick,
sensible skin covered
by a yellow, musky
substance, penetrating
with long threads
invisible to us, to sip
essence of tree life
to live itself.
Nothing does it know
about the sufferance of trees.
How can we blame it
for pretending a place
in our world
of bad and good
Dada
“…the absolute faith in every god that is the immediate product of spontaneity”
(Tristan Tzara, anarchic poet and one of the founders of the dada movement)
Is the world really falling apart?
Isn’t it only a dark moment
of sudden despair, the blood
rushing like the deep stream of life
so dangerously loud
you can not hear the birdsong?
Tell your mind to forget history and religion.
Tell your heart to forget the dancing stars
in a flickering sky of electric blue,
it was not your vision. Try to forget also
the Fifth Symphony of a deaf man,
sitting in your marrow so obstinately
it will never leave you as long as you live.
You did not consider that meaninglessness
is a dark hooded door keeper
who must be called by his name
before he will hand you a sheet of paper
still unwritten and an empty pen to be filled
with the ink of your own blood.
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