poems & pictures
It is no use chiding me
for being elusive stuff
slipping out of your hand.
In vain you keep on grumbling
I had better be more concrete,
steadfast, tangible, consistent.
Each time you think you hold her,
after long pursuing my semblance,
my true nature shuns your senses.
Whatever you try with my essence,
she vanishes like a sunset shadow
stretching out and out before dying.
You are looking for your mainstay,
a ground to rest on to look around
without ever losing your bearings.
But what I am is chilly air, I am wind;
I am water and the salt dissolved in it,
yes, please, convince yourself: I am sea.
For all you strive you can’t change that,
I am really nothing you can stand upon.
Indeed, nothing you can grasp or tread.
First published in Erbacce (UK)