Са очима таме,
Ноћ на небо пада.
Сада само, тамно,
Од дечице његове,
И жене Луне
Што у тами сја.
Плакати се спрема.
Мука је његова
Болнија од суза.
Кише ће бити.
Сузе ће лити.
О тами ће снити.
Мука је његова
Житу парави сан.
Кише ће бити,
Семе ће клити,
На сунцу ће бити.
Лоше ће доћи,
Лоше ће и проћи.
После лоше ноћи,
Добро ће доћи.
I think life, would suddenly seem wonderful to us
If we were threatened to die.
Just think of how many projects, travels, love affairs, studies
IT - our life - hides from us
Made us invisible by our laziness, which certain of a future
Delays them incessantly.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.
At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me …
An odd by-product of my loss is that I’m afraid of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t …
And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness …
C. S. Lewis, from A Grief Observed
Naslov He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven - W. B. Yeats Autor Aleksandar Stojaković O pesmi
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven je poema William Butler Yeats. Objavljena je 1899 u njegovo trećoj zbirci pesama, The Wind Among the Reeds.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats