keskiviikko 23. tammikuuta 2013

An exception proves the rule. Something in English, originally written in Finnish, though.

white clouds      wide open mouths of darkness
                            biting mouths in ancient negatives
          snow fallen down as a present
          into the white sea of an opening in a book
       tiny lads keep on sailing the sea on their paper yacht
the brave ones never reach their end
the waves of limerick carrying on      rocking
rocking        water so happily plays
my finger sails in the calmness of tight hair
how can a soul
      exist in a factory-made teddy bear
or in a negative or in a cloud inside of a mouth
how can a soul sail among one´s dreams
a man next to me nods outside        who knows
                           and then, an ectopic beat
                           drawn by a light spot on the window
a flash far down in a valley
once upon a time it was
the only mark of a place my soul might have settled
the kind a place i have been looking for
                    i´m standing in a school yard
so early in the morning nothing has started yet
    so close to reach to the end
the man next to me just looks and sees
not the ancient me but my eyes flicking
amid the clattering of the train
trees seen earlier i now just ignore
my dream no longer throbs
staring at the bottom of the sea
holding up, untrusting, holding up
the landscape hard as i can
   the lads will arrive paddling into harbour
   with broccoli buds, oh, with faces so dour
our party, this modest celebration is all we´ve got
in the blossoms the buds smaller than a pin´s head
buds ripen by the sun
and we row to fetch them
the sea heaving, just about to freeze
upon us a cloud like a blanket
   and like our light
       a spot blinks



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