He said: Those buildings hinder me from living. With their sharp spires, with their high roofs they block the horizon. They hinder me, said he.
And the buildings have collapsed, every single one; they crumbled like dust, and the horizon with the boundless sky has been opened to his gaze. And he was told: Look, we’ve destroyed all these buildings for you. Live, they are no more.
And one died, and another one began constructing new buildings. He said: These buildings help me live. With their sharp spires, with their high roofs they bring heaven closer to me. They help me live, said he.
But the buildings weren’t reaching the sky. They were growing old, and no new floors could be added anymore, and yet it was a pity to demolish them. At least one could see the horizon from them. But he had long forgotten about the horizon, he was exhausted, he had lost his memory in this endless construction, he had long forgotten the horizon.
And there was a third one who liked wandering among the old buildings. He never stopped, going now left, now right, and if he disliked a street, he turned into another one, and many streets appeared before him, and he always chose the one he wanted. The heaven was helping him, he didn’t believe in the horizon and never turned back, but I’ve glanced into his destiny and have been horrified.
If only those obeying the dream learned to pave their way.
If only those to whom truth was revealed were abundant with mercy.
If only lambs mastered sword, and doves the wisdom of snakes.
If only those to whom much has been given know that blessed are the hungry.
Credits
- My sincere gratitude to the Isle of Write Poetry Pond workshop for deep feedback and precise suggestions.
- Photo by Jacob Surland on Flickr.
- The Isle of Write logo below courtesy of
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My Other Poems
- Spring in the Air
- The Power of Words
- The Day of Possible
- The Hidden World
- Time for Peace
- White Sun
- Freewriting before Christmas
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