JOYFUL WATER

There is no poetry without the metaphysical collocutor.
Without a counterpart in the world of pure souls.
Without a suggestion of that world.

Anyway, the grains of sorrow are cast on the soil of poetry,
in the midst of its immeasurable beauty.
And only great sorrow can summon true joy, to show that life does exist.

We are most often confronted by the challenges of illusion and the trials
of communication with chimeras — but where are we?
Where is our purpose, and how does one recognize the essence?

How does one recognize where the soul sleeps?
And how does one arouse it? At least for a moment?
How does one exist beyond the visible being?
How does one find a place in this world for the soul — one’s own?

How does one recognize it habitat?
How does one recognize the purpose and trace of its path?
How does one simultaneously exist where one is and is not? — I forever ponder that.
And these questions are dalliance with purpose, as we ride this toboggan of life.
Nenad Šaponja