susan smith nash
savagely
gentle and as dark as a dawn
promised
but not delivered;
I
am a person of many secrets,
hidden
words I share with no one --
my
life a series of fleeting encounters
human
contact limited, like flying low,
scraping
my belly on the tops of mountains
thoughts
foaming and pure
and
inaccessible.
only
fools still believe
perception
is more important than the truth
the
last century was a factory of false philosophy;
ideology
we only pretended to believe;
that
reality can be constructed from political will
that
humanity does not require a human compass.
only
the blind believe
utopias
are not paid for in blood
my
secret is that I am not connected.
my
dreams are not sheep
to
be butchered for someone else's wedding.
I
have kept myself apart --
you
probably divined this, but what does it matter?
I
could never believe in any reality constructed
merely
by force of my own longing;
earth,
fire, water, air are not enough --
creation
requires wisdom, too.
I
am safe here in the mountains and rivers
in
this sad bridge between artificial territories,
maps
drawn as if the hand of man could rename identity & heritage;
some
still try,
but
aren't we past all that?
I
stare into the sky and into the clouds
mirrors
of the glory of God.
the
mapmakers haven't seen these wild mountains
the
slender ravines and trackless cascades;
why
believe that saying something will make it so;
that
perception holds forth more weight than truth?
I
want to live and breathe
on
earth, not paper -- this earth
a
body sculpted by poets & history,
how
can you define truth, dignity, family joy?
the
world clings to its delusions
and
I travel alone
skimming
peaks, sinking into valleys
begging
for light, union, final truth --
Nakitchevan
with
answers carved in calligraphy,
poetry
woven into carpets
holding
the joy I have searched for all my life,
I
am a woman of many secrets
many
dark dreams of night
of
Nakitchevan
stepping
stone to the clouds,
harbor
for souls learning life on earth.
--
susan smith nash