THE MILLSTONE (2020)
The smog of lies hangs like a mask,
Truth retches, twists as if she gasps
among these mills.
Her arms outstretched but finding strength
she tears the veil and clears the stench
as clouds unfold.
Our ancestors, they too were bound
yet struck their feet in Common ground
and did not cease!
MC
It's Old New Year, so I'm raising my spirit and feeding my soul in the Caucasus with a Belarusian glass, Svayak, so why not toast a country has been a refreshing exception to the masked-up panic of the past year. It brings to mind a poem familiar to many.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise...
Rudyard Kipling's poem 'If' first appeared in his collection 'Rewards and Fairies' in 1909.
As censorship and downright lies bring the worst of Pravda to the Western press, let's also drink a toast to words, their inspiration and their power. And since we are talking of Baltic inspiration, here's one from the poet Ryhor Krushyna.
THE WORD (1964)
Within the spectrum wide with intuition
I recognize you, my word.
Its taste, its odor, and play of sounds for definition,
And my creative happiness I heard.
The colors gamut and its play,
The elixir of youth,
And golden dreams of yesterday,
The fervor and the restless whirl of truth.
I see it all, I feel it all,
With words creating all anew,
I hear the voice of my country’s call,
The war of emotions that I knew.
For instance, take such a word for taste
Such bitter word is “absinth” to be sure.
It seems along the village street there’s waste
Of weed that crawls along the paling ever more.
Some though are straining words as castor oil,
Though surely there are others honey sweet…
My word! I’ll not desert you in my toil,
I love your flight of fancy in this feat.
Mankind you do enrich so much
To prompt them to come forth in life.
You’ll cure the ailing with your touch,
And beat the evil enemy in strife.
You’re flashing with a lightning sheath,
And wafting with the warmth of spring and spree.
Upon my death you’ll meander as a wreath
To be consumed by life and me.
I recognize you, my word.
Its taste, its odor, and play of sounds for definition,
And my creative happiness I heard.
The colors gamut and its play,
The elixir of youth,
And golden dreams of yesterday,
The fervor and the restless whirl of truth.
I see it all, I feel it all,
With words creating all anew,
I hear the voice of my country’s call,
The war of emotions that I knew.
For instance, take such a word for taste
Such bitter word is “absinth” to be sure.
It seems along the village street there’s waste
Of weed that crawls along the paling ever more.
Some though are straining words as castor oil,
Though surely there are others honey sweet…
My word! I’ll not desert you in my toil,
I love your flight of fancy in this feat.
Mankind you do enrich so much
To prompt them to come forth in life.
You’ll cure the ailing with your touch,
And beat the evil enemy in strife.
You’re flashing with a lightning sheath,
And wafting with the warmth of spring and spree.
Upon my death you’ll meander as a wreath
To be consumed by life and me.
Ryhor Krushyna by Mikhas' Bagun (public domain).
With which, fellow readers and writers, I thank you for your kind attention and comments and toast you and the New Year for a second time.
With which, fellow readers and writers, I thank you for your kind attention and comments and toast you and the New Year for a second time.
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