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In Harmony Of Truth

Women suffer a lot of misery

Because they are the child-bearing half

Of our species.  They just plug on,

With beautiful smiles and their sexiness.

I suffer a lot of misery

For being me - I do not speak of ‘men’;

I just plug on, and write poetry.

How stupid to think we can reverse the Sea of Chaos,

As if we could remodel the Earth

Into a gentle ball without its fire,

And tame tectonic plates and magma,

Or command volcanoes to stop.

Or should we re-engineer the species

So that everyone can wear spectacles,

Or turn hermaphrodite,

To become a philosopher?


If there were no Utopians

To bleed their lives and suffer Hell,

How would anything ever change,

Even in tiny fractions?


Love we can have, that is free,

We can find it in our own hearts

By ourselves, and let it try

To do the best we can.

Why do we not live in the Pre-Cambrian,

Why do we see only violet to red,

Why are we not fish, or saints;

What we are, we hardly know.

But, we can feel love, I know,

That alone swims through the rocks,

Not easily, but it is good,

The best thing we can feel.


There flew an angel at my birth,

She was as bright as Mystery,

She pointed at the Other Way,

But did not say how to enter It,

And so I tried to fly too,

Through perfumed paradises and books of Truth,

And there I stumbled and fell, and cried,

But losing blood did not lose my faith

In love, although, in my constant anger,

I constantly lost Her, and wrecked contact

With her ever-shimmering and ever-true

Beauty and honesty, through blind death

And bizarre stupidity, of my own making

Or of accident.  But She always forgave me

Ultimately, and I could come back

To soften under her wonderful folds,

And she kissed my eyelids again, and sent

Me back into true dreams, in ecstatic love

Of everything, soaked in her feminine loveliness,

That was there again like the Ocean

Of eternal time.  It never runs dry,

It is only you who lose Her.


Her warm wings keep you afloat

And calm you like sacred medicine,

Her kindness kisses you like flame

And you know you are there again

In wonderland where your brain calms;

And your mind and soul feel at one with the Moon.



Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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