As the world breathes in chaos and exhales anxiety
While trying to isolate from the death in the air.
Some of us are filled by the guilt that comes with righteousness.
It is the day everyone finally open their eyes, and gets pushed into the real!
How fragile we are, how vain our daily worries and pursuits.
To the poets and the crows, nothing has changed though.
Life, death and love are still the same, our heart flutters as always,
Laughing and crying before the broken illusions that never worked on us.
We struggle to adjust our eyes to the light,
But cannot repress the elation that blows through our soul: “look! see!”
This world we built for ourselves revealed as a castle of cards;
But for the warmth it gives us as we drop its pages into the fire,
There is nothing of value in the book of account we kept so meticulously.
We feel our fingers longing for a hand to hold, a tide of tears rising
As we try to recall the smell of our children or parents.
We leave our precious car behind to enjoy a quiet walk.
The sky displays the colours we remember from our childhood.
As we walk this path without plan that leads only to tomorrow
We feel gratitude for the song of the birds; which kept on going
All these years despite being drowned by the noise of our engines.
But soon the storm will pass and we will all be called to go back to business,
Because after all, as John wrote in his dictionary of obscure sorrows:
“It’s just life, not the end of the world.”
So I pray that we will choose to join the silent flight of the black feathers;
Stay a bit longer with the poets and the crows,
Here in the uncertainty, in the emergency of life death and love.
May we refrain from turning the engines back on
From drowning our song with the busy plans of a cardboard world.
I thank the storm for reminding us that life happens in our tender soul,
And not in our busy minds. I love you all.
(C) Didier Beaugrand 05/2020
Thanks you John Koenig for your dictionary of obscure sorrows!