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Going and Staying
Going and Staying THE moving sun-shapes on the spray, The sparkles where the brook was flowing, Pink faces, plightings, moonlit May,— These were the things we wished would stay; But they were going. Seasons of blankness as of snow, The silent bleed of a world decaying, The moan of multitudes in woe,— These were the things we wished would go; But they were staying. Thomas Hardy. |
#2
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BETWEEN GOING AND STAYING Between going and staying the day wavers, in love with its own transparency. The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks. All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can't be touched. Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest in the shade of their names. Time throbbing in my temples repeats the same unchanging syllable of blood. The light turns the indifferent wall into a ghostly theater of reflections. I find myself in the middle of an eye, watching myself in its blank stare. The moment scatters. Motionless, I stay and go: I am a pause. ................................................................................. ........................................................................................................ Octavio Paz
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The Me you have always known, the Me that's a stranger still. |
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