There's no such blade
that would be sharp enough
to slice one of one's shadow.
I grab and tear mine away, though,
kneading and reshaping it
like wet clay soil
in hope, maybe
its blackness won't scare you.
From the shapeless mass,
I yearn to give a familiar form
so you may recognize me
from even taking a glimpse at it.
You know, my shadow never lies,
always telling the truth
showing its real face,
even when mine betrays.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 6:23 AM UTC
There's no such blade
that would be sharp enough
to slice one of one's shadow.
I grab and tear mine away, though,
kneading and reshaping it
like wet clay soil
in hope, maybe
its blackness won't scare you.
From the shapeless mass,
I yearn to give a familiar form
so you may recognize me
from even taking a glimpse at it.
You know, my shadow never lies,
always telling the truth
showing its real face,
even when mine betrays.
"Du siehst! ein Hund, und kein Gespenst ist da.
Er knurrt und zweifelt, leg sich auf den Bauch.
Er wedelt. Alles Hundebrauch."
"You see? He's no phantom but a dog.
He snarls and watches, crouching on his belly.
He wags his tail - all canine habits."
(Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe: Faust, Act II,
Before The Gate, translated by Peter Salm)
Request permission to use this poem