Thursday, 10 April 2014

"Nobody, not even the rain.."

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond 
by E. E. Cummings

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
Any experience, your eyes have their silence:
In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me
Or which I cannot touch because they are too near

Your slightest look easily will unclose me
Though I have closed myself as fingers
You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously her first rose

Or if your wish be to close me, I and
My life will shut very beautifully 
As when the heart of this flower imagines 
The snow carefully everywhere descending; 

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals 
The power of your intense fragility: whose texture
Compels me with the color of its countries 
Rendering death and forever with each breathing 

(I do not know what is it about you that closes
And opens; only something in me understands
The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
Nobody, not even the rain has such small hands