Two Red Berries
Nordic Light
A Nail Through the Sole of a Sandal In Sydney
Northern Icarus
Sunday in the Lingonberry Forest
Power Lines

behind autumn’s rusty pleasure
and the leaky old rowboat
that is hauled out of the river
year after year,
a dog barking through the morning
– sound check before the elk hunt

there ahead, beyond the forest,
awaits that which is called future

you are on your way there, with two
red berries in your hand,
one for yourself
and one for the world

against power you stand equipped
with the shining stubbornness of the heather,
you know that this won’t be sufficient
not even the four cardinal points
are enough

but your arms reach a dream
where time is not rushing and where
all children can speak all the world’s languages:
every tongue enjoys a freedom
which does not exist

you who don’t listen to the incomprehensible
will never understand anything

we are not only what we are
we become what we see

two red berries; there you stand
on the threshold of the world, you
walk on the air and the wind is blowing
in your hair

AuthorBengt Berg
2018-08-21T17:22:45+00:00 December 16th, 2012|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 87|0 Comments