Mint tágra zárt két kicsiny szem,
Úgy figyelem, hogy esik szét minden.
Bőgnek a harangok az ocsmány,
Szívemnek vélt valami csonkján,
Ami persze hőn érzett,
De pocsolyába fúlt végzet lett
Az ő érdeme.
Hogy értem-e?
Lábujjam hegye s végtagjaim
Röhögve kísérik végnapjaim
Fel egy szent hegy ormára, ahol
Az összes rohadt áldozat meglakol
Aki a büszke és telhetetlen medve
Nyáltól nyúló, odvas fogát nem vette
Eléggé szemügyre.
Mert a vész ólálkodik, szimatol.
Minden félénket, véznát kiszagol.
A tanácsom az, bátran előre néző,
szaruhártyádat nem kímélő:
Változz kővé, vagy áldozd fel magad,
Mielőtt a vad elragad.
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"Analysis kills spontaneity. The grain once ground into flour germinates no more."
( Henri Amiel)
( Henri Amiel)