Poetry «Fly» & » help me free myself»


Wingéd birds of time fly on,

Fly to the rising sun and turning back at dusk:

A long journey it seems to reach back at starting point

Wingéd birds, time’s creatures, fly on.

I, that am, forever still, know –

Of no journey’s start nor end nor flight.

You, outspanning wings, measuring the sky,

Swift and slow, slow and swift,

Smiling at the wingless snail treasuring earth;

Both, in smog or dirt, in motion bound.

I, that am, forever still, know –

Of no measure, nor motion, neither doing’s undoing.

Bewildered you in your wingédness, the wingless too –

Chained by grooves of motion’s air and earth –

Tossed and twirled and set afire, seemingly so new:

To fly on, to plod on, through many a life and birth.

I, that am, forever still, know –

Of no air, nor earth, nor life or death, still ever new.


My Lord, help me free myself

From the web that strangles me.

I’ve spun and spun but to find

A strange bondage that baffles me.

My Lord in your mercy you throw yourself

Between spear and shield –

You get wounded by my possession

To show how life to love must yield.

You came from the vast blue skies

To peer into my own little blue eyes

And said: Stop loving the fleshy dead

On which termites are fearfully fed.

You said love more and more, forever more

Not in possession which ends in woe

But in the spirit’s light of timeless yore

Nestle in the nest, but fly as the crow.

Possess not and be you not possessed

For naught is yours. Be ever blessed

In knowing this. For man in love dressed

Forsakes, yet loves. That soul feels freedom’s rest.


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