and god spoke

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: The Lowest Country

it was not god –


the hands played

like children in the dust of the road,

and his eyes fluttered like white butterflies –

and he whispered –:


why do you hide your dreams-?

why do you carry faces in front of your dreams –?

in the sun you should lay them –

in the wind you should spread them out –,

on the roads you should walk naked under your dreams,

so that you could become beautiful, as they –

not with your eyes should you love,

not through hard glass should you see the sorcery –

not through square smiles should beauty seep out

and turn to biting drops –

why do you make warriors of your hands,

guardians of your smiles –?


and his eyes fluttered,

and he spoke –: |


o, to see each one leave

with his dreams in his outstretched hands –,

singing towards the sun and the storm –:

beloved, here’s all my dreams –,

take –!

cursed – cursed be the fear –

cursed – cursed be the fear –

not the lust in your watchful eyes

should you give your beloved –,

not knowledge, dripped out in smiles –

see your strange longing hands –

fill your hands with sensitivity –,

and go to your beloved –,

and say –:

here’s all my dreams –,

take –!