My Work - Poetry

The Search

And I still continue to search ceaselessly
And continue to lose my way.
I search in every corner of the earth—
At times I furl my sails at the end of the east,
At others I reach the end of the west,
And yet at other times I travel south and disembark
And under the spears of the hot sun
The sand dunes die in front of my eyes
And at other times I find myself on the verdure
Under the soft sun of the north,
Or I may stroll on the hills in a pine forest
Drinking the sweet-scented fresh air
Or rest my back against the trunk of a tree
And enjoy looking at the light spots like golden coins
Scattered by the sun amongst the shadows of the leaves,
The sun painting on the foliage oil masterpieces
With a thousand and one shades of green.
...And I remember your beauty and incandescence!
And at other times I kneel on the shores of lakes
Throwing little pebbles into the water
Then gazing at the circles growing
Bigger and bigger, but never meeting.
Like this we grow older my love
And life rolls by, but we never meet
And like that we will grow older and older
Until we vanish
O woman with a sweet soul!
An enchanting soft world in my heart!
A rose in radiance and fragrance!
The secret of the finest lines told by my poetry
And of what it has never told
And of what can never be told!
O spring of the meaning of beauty!
O chalice brimming with Babylonian wine!
O star of matchless brilliance
Hiding behind the dark clouds!
Be kind! Have mercy! Be not so cruel
When will this search ever end?..
I am tired of this road
I feel exhausted, so how come you are not tired?
How come you have not flagged?
When is it, my love, that we can unite?
I sat alone yesterday in the shade of the branches,
Thinking about you,
Letting my thoughts gallop,
And I heard the question knocking and knocking repeatedly
I think of you, and confirm that you are the limit of my dreams
And that you are the far and near,
But when I thought longer
When I dug deeper and deeper into my soul
I realized that I was seeking the impossible
That I asked from you the unattainable,
For you are but a figment of the imagination
..The fragments of an ideal!

Switzerland/Denmark 1980