![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmnAgTqiTSG1qd3kg6fLRXSNPYCNmoxRJ6Fkb2dk-fM_Mof0AGpn7G1A_fHWvQ7zB7tJnWU2deJoK-jyrxUHcPOwOdlbs46Y31itngLKs7dw_S1jPstosDNnvMdi9XScXZbWZor1EmHY/s1600/ccd95813ddda3ba3f4817db787025937.jpg)
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;
to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;
to tell pain
from everything it’s not;
to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.
An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;
and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,
mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJype2BGvKNFBB-r9HoIneBmioye6XbEi0hrwhtP6kX8feFhuW1N9IJ2uSsb3Fp3Y6Gv_JKy6FJcXxtZP_bofvM_T2gbSGdZjpn88xvg_vW4XYkwpGJ-RNUrCO547_qSse_JA5CoxNVxw/s200/wislawa-206x300.jpg)
Visit this link to read the original poem in Polish, along with a translation by Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka.
Photography credit: Detail from untitled image by unknown photographer (originally color).
Capturing beautifully that, in other words, life IS.
ReplyDelete