Perceptions....

My Favourite Poem..

From birth to death
time surrounds us
with its intangible walls.
We fall with the centuries, the years, the minutes.
Is time only a falling, only a wall?

For a moment,
sometimes,
we see-- not with our eyes but with our thoughts
--time resting in a pause.
The world half-opens
and we glimpsethe immaculate kingdom,
the pure forms,
presencesunmoving,
floatingon the hour,
a river stopped:truth, beauty, numbers, ideas
-- and goodness, a word buriedin our century.

A moment without weight or duration,
a moment outside the moment:
thought sees, our eyes think.
Triangles, cubes, the sphere,
the pyramid
and the other geometrical figures
thought and drawn by mortal eyes
but which have been here since the beginning,
are, still legible,
the world,
its secret writing,
the reason and the origin of the turning of things,
the axis of the changes,
the unsupported pivott
hat rests on itself, a reality without a shadow.
The poem, the piece of music, the theorem,
unpolluted presences born from the void,
are delicate structures
built over an abyss:infinities fit into their finite forms,
and chaos too is ruled by their hidden symmetry.

Because we know it,
we are not an accident:
chance, redeemed returns to order.
Tied to the earth and to time,
a light and weightless ether,
thought supports the worlds
and their weight,
whirlwinds of suns turned into a handful of signs on a random piece of paper.

Wheeling swarms of transparent evidence
where the eyes of understanding drink a water simple as water.

The universe rhymes with itself,
it unfolds and is two and is many without ceasing to be one.
Motion, a river that runs endlessly
with open eyes through the countries of vertigo
-- there is no above nor below,
what is near is far --returns to itself
-- without returning,
now turned into a fountain of stillness.

Tree of blood,
man feels,
thinks, flowers,and bears strange fruits: words.
What is thought and what is felt entwine,
we touch ideas: they are bodies and they are numbers.
And while I say what I say
time and space fall dizzyingly,restlessly.

They fall in themselves.
Man and the galaxy return to silence.
Does it matter? Yes -- but it doesn't matter:
we know that silence is music and
thatwe are a chord in this concert.

posted by shikha @ 4:20 PM