Awaiting ’s like a question mark,
a wailing of your soul, knees stuck to forehead
like a babe in its mum’s womb when
the time of birth is drawing near,
it is a longing for two worlds
in a reversed relation:
the nice and snug moving away,
the remote one forever closer

You know no longer how to choose your words,
which ones to leave and which keep tight
in your heart’s fist,
nor how to keep the heart’s eye wide awake
and let yourself pervaded by the spirit of the Lord

You, meeting point of two contrasting worlds
feeling your body as a tree
which has its roots in Heaven
but bears fruits on Earth.