cosmos

Immensity

 

Feel free to venture into it,
Those lands of lucid revelations
Upon the contemplation
                        of a tree
                            or an ant
The formation of a cloud
                        or the wind in skies
Submerging into the intimate universe
While our sight becomes a tongue
in warm moist contact
With the immensity that surrounds us

 Oppose it no more,
Engulfed in the tenderness of the night
Surveying the voids of the galaxies
Stand maskless on the precipice of every moment
            In a frightful convulsion of disbelief
Powerless: halfway between wonder and adoration

POEM i

POEM  i

In every metamorphosis there is
a symbol of the eternal resurrection,
the thousand faces of a timeless world
                                   born forever anew
 
As we drift aimlessly within
the corridors of a flickering instant,
in the huge vaults of time immemorial
                                 Man asleep, awakens!
 
But the amnesia of the cosmos
eagerly consumes our monuments,
of a civilization new and wild
                               imprisoned on earth
 
If we escape from the shackles
of our legendary blindness,
above these clouds of galaxies,
                             darkness becomes light.

Poem in rain and cosmos

 

Why must raindrops fall
and stir my soul like Debussy’s piano,
delirium in an orchestra of round ripples
each droplet unites with the puddle
in this unknown street of Nygårdvej
Why can I not resist this temptation
Of studying the motions of a
                                           fluctuating universe

I raise my head a few meters
a different world comes into view
a realm so close but so inexplicable
of these men and women of modernity;
so you see two worlds bound together
One as ancient as numberless time
The other new by cosmic comparison

And worst of all, I must confess
this thing frightens me above all:
the road mankind has fashioned for itself,
that relentless evolution of man’s world
not long ago we lived flat on a finite earth,
now the cosmos has expanded to insane proportions
we are a micro-dot in a cold dark shadow

Are children aware of our ancestral roots
before we were in trees, but now
riding in motorized wheels
is there a Nostradamus among us
who will reveal the end of our obsessions,
or will it never come to an end,
like this puddle should turn into ocean
                                       if these drops from heaven
                                                                   never cease to fall.