| you wish to write the best lines of a poem, something that they will remember for a lifetime, you want to put the best metaphor, you like to be deeper than the deepest ocean (or the bluest sky ever, or the tallest peak of a mountain with snow caps, you want to put the gentlest sound of the wind on top of the Tibetan monastery, you like to have your lines sound like a tinkering bell of the meditating monks, you want it holier than the saints, you want to make an impression with the moon and the stars, before you die, before you embrace the darkness and then take on the glowing robe of light) you wish to write the wisdom of the ages in some few lines, you want to put your name at the bottom, so they may remember you how human could you still be! divinity shuns this waste of words! come to think of the paradox the best poem is not written at all it is not even spoken not even the sweetest song of the bird not even the flute or the lyre has that note it is not here, not even in the hearts of men or of the wise, it does not exist here, it is not even heard yet, the metaphors still unseen the rhyme unrevealed, the rhythm unfathomed... |
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