Can anyone pull himself
out of the swamp
by his own tuft?
Can anyone raise himself
from the dead to life?
Can a stone
walk on water,
and not just fly over it or sink,
or a feather
dive to the bottom,
without losing their lightness?
Can an eye
discern the border
between heaven and earth,
or look at itself,
or an ear
hear the silence
and still be ear?
Can there be light
without it’will become dark
at the same time?
Can hands loosen
and be themselve the whole gift?
Can feet carry,
as if the earth would be the heaven
and the heaven the earth,
and each beginning an end,
and each end a beginning,
and as if no here or there is,
only here at every place?
Can not life only
be born of itself,
but if it gives birth to,
hasn’t it also to die?
Can the infinitely strong
still be strong,
when far away from any pain,
that pierces marrow and bone?
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015