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(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926 / Prague / Czech Republic)

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Childhood

It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,
for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?

We're still reminded-: sometimes by a rain,
but we can no longer say what it means;
life was never again so filled with meeting,
with reunion and with passing on

as back then, when nothing happened to us
except what happens to things and creatures:
we lived their world as something human,
and became filled to the brim with figures.

And became as lonely as a sheperd
and as overburdened by vast distances,
and summoned and stirred as from far away,
and slowly, like a long new thread,
introduced into that picture-sequence
where now having to go on bewilders us.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: childhood, lonely, sometimes, rain, lost, world, life

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  • Jagannath rao Adukuri (3/6/2006 3:57:00 AM)

    'Nothing happened to us except what happens to things and creatures'- a childhood experience of unawareness is so beautifully captured here.

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