Author's Poems

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Our Eyes

Our eyes
are limpid
drops of water.

In each drop exists
a tiny sign
of our genius
which has given life to cold iron.

Our eyes
are limpid
drops of water
merged absolutely in the Ocean
that you could hardly recognize
the drop in a block of ice
in a boiling pan.

The masterpiece of these eyes
the fulfillment of their genius
the living iron.

In these eyes
filled with limpid
pure tears
had failed to emerge
from the infinite Ocean
if the strength
had dispersed,
we could never have mated
the dynamo with the turbine,
never have moved
those steel mountains in water
easily
as if made of hollow wood.

The masterpiece of these eyes
the fulfillment of their genius
of our unified labour
the living iron.
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    in Poems (Author's Poems)
    Calmly take what ill betideth;
    Patience wins the crown at length:
    Rich repayment him abideth
    Who endures in quiet strength.
    Brave the tamer of the lion;
    Brave whom conquered kingdoms praise;
    Bravest he who rules his passions,
    Who his own impatience sways.
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      And something started in my soul,
      fever or forgotten wings,
      and I made my own way,
      deciphering
      that fire,
      and I wrote the first faint line,
      faint, without substance, pure
      nonsense,
      pure wisdom
      of someone who knows nothing,
      and I suddenly saw
      the heavens
      unfastened
      and open.
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        Posted by: Sylvia Drago
        in Poems (Author's Poems)

        We Never Know How High We Are

        We never know how high we are
        Till we are asked to rise
        And then if we are true to plan
        Our statures touch the skies -

        The Heroism we recite
        Would be a normal thing
        Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
        For fear to be a King.
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          At bidding of a Will, to which we bend
          (and must), but only dimly apprehend,
          great processes march on, as Time unrolls
          from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
          and as on page o'er-written without clue,
          with script and limning packed of various hue,
          an endless multitude of forms appear,
          some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer,
          each alien, except as kin from one
          remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun.
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            When the Nazis came for the communists,
            I remained silent;
            I was not a communist.

            When they locked up the social democrats,
            I remained silent;
            I was not a social democrat.

            When they came for the trade unionists,
            I did not speak out;
            I was not a trade unionist.

            When they came for the Jews,
            I remained silent;
            I wasn't a Jew.

            When they came for me,
            there was no one left to speak out.
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              in Poems (Author's Poems, Love)
              I am not without you,
              that you are with me from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep,
              that it's you when the wind caresses me,
              that it's your voice I hear in the silence,
              you whom I see when I close my eyes,
              you who make me laugh and sing when I know no one else is around.
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