Priceless Maturity... Poem by Aleksandra Szymanska

A wise man I shall always admire
and crave for his wisdom he could bestow
to show me the paths I still haven’t discovered…
I know so little…or perhaps I’ve forgotten how
it really feels… It’s been a while since I juggled it
between the fingers of my soul, touching its
very core, feeling its essence, breathing in its air:
human touch – its three basic dimensions and
all levels of its ever changing form, yet undiscovered;
this unknown-forgotten part of life buried
under the layer of stiff schemes of an abusive programme
keeping nature behind the bars of its experiments:
‘you mustn’t break the rules; you must talk this way;
that’s the way you ought to treat her' …
Does awareness show a way, or lead
to a blind corner of everlasting pain?
A man, wise and patient knows the taste of a healthy soul,
knows life and answers to its many tricky questions,
wearing them on his chest like a magical amulet
made of drops of rain… And if I asked him
would he ever accept just one tear for his collection?
Would he help me to find the way back to humanity?