by wislawa symborska
what was real
and what scarcely seemed to be
in this auditorium,
stellar and substellar,
requiring tickets both to get in
and get out;
why does this world prize worldly accquisition & accomplishments so much?
such things really just sicken me to the core.
LITTLE ON THE SOUL
Periodically one has a soul.
Nobody has it all the time and forever.
Day after day, year after year
can pass without it.
It rarely assists us
in strenuous pursuits,
such as moving furniture,
or tromping through a road in tight shoes.
While filling in forms
and chopping meat
it usually takes the day off.
In a thousand of our conversations
it participates in one,
and not even necessarily in one,
it doesn't see us immediately in a crowd,
it sickens at our attempts at mere advantage
and the shrill clamor of business.
We can rely on it,
when we are certain of nothing,
and when everything seizes us.
It doesn't say where it comes from
and when it will disappear next,
But it clearly awaits such questions.
It looks like,
as much as we need it,
needs us for something too.
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