True Love

Wislawa Szymborska. Somewhere I read this poem. I loved it so much I searched for my own copy. When I read about the death of Polish Nobel Laureaute, Wislawa Szymborska I knew who she was, felt sad and reached for my book of her poems.

True Love

True Love. Is it normal,

is it serious, is it practical?

What does the world get from two people

who exist in the world of their own?

true love

..........

Look at the happy couple.

Couldn't they at least try to hide it,

fake a little depression for their friends' sake?

Listen to them laughing - it's an insult.

The language they use - deceptively clear.

And their little celebrations, rituals,

the elaborate mutual routines-

it's obviously a plot behind the human race's back!

true love

............

True love. Is it really necessary?

Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,

like a scandal in Life's highest circles.

Perfectly good children are born without its help.

It couldn't populate the planet in a million years,

it comes along so rarely.

True Love

...............

Wislawsa Szymborska

World Poetry Day

In Praise of dreams by Wislawa Szymborska

In my dreams

I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

I speak fluent Greek

and not just with the living.

....

I am gifted

and write mighty epics.

...

My brilliance as a pianist

would stun you.

I fly the way we ought to.

i.e, on my own.

I've got no problem

breathing under water.

I can't complain:

I've been able to locate Atlantis.

...

A few years ago

I saw two suns.

And the night before last a penguin,

clear as day.

Vermeer van Delft

What can you do in your dreams?

Chance

On the bus with Warmth riding through High Street Kensington. A favourite place of mine to shop. A part of London where Warmth once had a shop. A shop where I popped in a few times. Did he serve me?

Love at First Sight Wislawa Szymborska
.....

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them,
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways -
perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember-
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
...

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
...

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet,
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
...

There were door knobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.

staircase, door, leaf, suitcase