nannaland.dk

trying to be

somebody else

than who we are

for whatever reason

it might be

is exhausting

negating life

where life is given

so generously

over and over

again

breathtaking beauty

and a silent rain of blessings

unfolding in every little flower

turning towards light

the seal of the moon

rising behind still naked trees

faithful to its wanderings

across the sky

birds being

enthusiastic

despite drastic changes

interfering in time

revealing parts of reality

that were so easy to forget

in the routines

of what was considered to be

everyday life

entering a phase

stretching between polarities

charging the atmosphere

with an almost tangible tension

between opposites

every subtle layer of the mind

grasp it

while consciousness still does not seem

to admit the impact

despite the increasing analyses by intelligence

to reveal the undercurrents

there is nothing to be fought against

nothing to give in to

there is a transition

to live

the golden spring

gilding still naked trees

while soft skin is drinking in the warmth

breaking the way for an emerging soul

to reach the surface

impatient to leave the darkness

that has been holding it captive

for so long

not yet able to be aware

of the protection it received

to live with the heart

from the heart

by the heart

walking into the unknown

with the same confidence

that the mind seems to trace

old paths

not questioning the slightest

just moving forward

since this is the way it has been moving ahead

since dawn

walking into the unknown

with that unexpected particular sensation

of finally coming home

a golden rise of sun

spinning light into the day

while death is weaving threads of fear

like spiders web

on humid clay

somewhere beyond is running

what is called a secret way

where life and death and life again

has nothing more to say

a tender moon behind drifting clouds decorated one corner of the horizon

the gold of the rising sun another

while dark and heavy clouds of rain approaches from a third

the birds still sing

even if they seem to diminish in number

every year

and the wind draws the dark clouds closer

every second

sweeping away the last leftovers

of old habits

in a new-born mind

no more regrets

no more wondering

how things could have been

different

no more longings for a past

long gone

nor for a future

that never came