It Still Remembers
A Poem by
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the Sky still looks pure
It is not because we can see it
As the blue gate to Infinity,
To the Mystery, and beyond.
and sacred is the Sky
It still can remember
How the first Apple tree,
Pregnant with the thirst for Truth,
Yet blissfully smiling
With the glory of Doubt,
Began to bloom.
Sky is sacred,
Because it still remembers
How the first Tiller,
In his trance of triumph,
A sheaf of the untasted golden Wheat
On the lap of his expectant mate
To be blessed by her sagacious mouth.
But the Mother of Thought,
Though not decrepitly forgetful,
Cannot remember anything,
Because the mirror of her memory
With the thick layers of tortured Hopes
And the blood of unyielding Doubts.
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2007 K. Kianush, Art Arena