Try to Praise the Mutilated World

[WindRavenX]

This poem by Adam Zagajewski was published in the first New Yorker after 9/11; for me, it symbolizes everything in the world that I came to age of.

When I read this, I realize the importance of my loved ones; as without them, particularly Kyle, I would not be able to live in this world.

So, here it is:

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

[mykpart]

1. Kick!

And thanks.