The Source

When I wandered in Hell of which I do not sing
Because curses have first glued my lips
Like ugly flies mad from the heat ­
And also because each time I try - I yawn;
When wandering I passed a colonnade of boredom
Long and straight - also hallways of whims
And a sandy cemetery of glimmering giants
Moving drowsily beneath cobbled stones;
When my footsteps measured ante-chambers
Of silly-nerves which constantly try on clothes
And at wedding-time are never ready ! . . .
When I crossed thresholds of misery and portals of deceit
And was now passing insolent labyrinths of crime
Plastered everywhere with sentences of the Court,
I found myself on a spot where beneath my foot the lava
Cooled - so now I walked in air
And season and light that were truly Godless ! ...
- Like wheatfields charred by volcanoes
Or seas arrested and stinking,
Sea waves standing, gazing at each other, Sphinx-like,
Amazed at the strange habit of the deep,
- While above, penguins
With open throats, parching of thirst,
And a couple of red stars which waning
Rush into the void...
...there I went (unbelievably - without rest!...,
I went there - where ?... doubting... when a tiny plant
Pale and like one clumsily embroidered
Whispered to me: "...There is a spring..." - and further in a ravine
I felt something like dampness.
From that side too
A bitter laugh and a stifled rustle reached me
And I perceived a Man with hands on his head
As when one shifts all strength
Into one's feet - he was stamping on the spring's blue vein,
As though a ribbon which had entwined his sandal
Lay soiled in the dust where his foot had pressed it.
The man's laugh was wild - his accent strange :
Resembling the drum-beat following a coffin,
Echoing with sarcasm, hoarse with hate :
"See how the Creation-Spirit cleans my shoes!..."
(Contributed by daniel on Friday, April 8th, 2011)
See All Poetry


Also By Cyprian Norwid


Polish Literature

European Literature