Compared to the oddities of my life, how one thing changes from day to day, again and again (and I can not get used to or understand the ultimate meaning), I blend a question in my head.
persistent and urgent, like all the naive questions:
'but why'? "
Words yesterday seemed spontaneous and sincere, today shine in the silence of disbelief and mild distrust. There will be no exaggeration to 'a well in between.
Onesta, hesitant, clean, friendly and affectionate. Or not?
Nothing is a gift, everything is on loan.
are indebted to the neck.
I will be forced to pay for me
with myself,
to make life in exchange for his life.
is how things are, should be made
heart and liver should be made
and each finger.
is too late to avoid the contract. How much do I
I will be removed with the skin.
I'm going for the world
among a crowd of other debtors. On some
imposed the obligation to pay the wings. Other
will, willingly or by force,
give an account of the leaves.
column
Give every tissue that is in us.
not an eyelash, not a stalk
be preserved forever. The inventory is accurate
and apparently we'll stick with anything.
I can not remember where, when and why I allowed to open myself
that account.
call soul
protest against it.
And this is the only thing
that there is no inventory.
Wislawa Szymborska
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