poems & pictures
Are you not really out of breath yet?
However fast you rush down the slope,
you will never be able to outstrip him.
The mountain ghost
runs after and Attacks
the solitary spirits;
those more tenacious
than a pine that pushes
its way for light
through the rocks,
bending its trunk
if need require.
It is their untamed vital fire
that attracts and nourishes him;
he devours them from inside,
till they become part of him.
He feeds on rolling souls like yours,
made of adorned remembrances,
of silence and loneliness,
of energy and genius confined in a body
in turn slave to gravity.
And there is no one that can escape him.
First published in Poetry Monthly (UK)