When we imagine that we feel the glut of speech, and we need to exercise love, then we find us taming ourselves to be obedient to love’s fluctuations, to discover that this swelling is a blessed pregnancy, or perhaps it is inauspicious.
And from there I drew a picture…
I saw that there is a girl of about ten who still carries in her thoughts the genes of feeling.
And love is written by force… once in public and three times in secret
And after she exceeded thirty-odd years, labor came to her on the Bridge of Forgetfulness!
Perhaps she wants to knead the pain with bright hope, whose first cry is an incomprehensible stammering of love!
And on the suspended bridge, her pain would intensify agonizingly
Then she would fall asleep imagining her baby’s stammering
Has transformed into loud love notes
Played by a magical wand and a queen’s sceptre
And a book that is carried weakly by a crazed woman
Carrying it to term and releasing it took years
Until the hour of birth came between these pages!