Friday, March 20, 2015

The Snow-Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delated, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow. 

Thursday, February 19, 2015


All by myself absorbing the silence
Excluding the noise of my complicated life
I just like to sit here and be quiet for a while
Observing the incomprehensible world around me

Listen, carefully now, can you hear this stillness
Or is it just inside, inside my head
Millions of thoughts are circling around, if you listen well
You can hear them begging to find a way out

At moments I feel like being stuck in time
Except my thoughts chased up words spoken in riddles
My mind filled with complicated thoughts
Overwhelmed by anger and painful plots

Grimy faces all around me deep down in my inner self
A lifetime of stories filling up my bookshelf
What am I thinking of, why can’t I break this
Rolling down my face is a frozen teardrop

What happened to my uncomplicated youthful existence
Is it destroyed by the needs of an adult life.
This has to stop, it can no longer persist
It hurts me physically, creating unbearable pain

I am desperately looking for some peace of mind
But I have not been able to release myself
Thoughts are getting lost and not being found
Restless mind, unquiet times, and the simplicity of the soul

Distant, tired and exhausted
Simplicity, a lovely word to say…

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

МЕ: Fear of happiness

I've never been more afraid in my life.