a monk kissing trees

i do live in a fair bit of seclusion and solitude.
it was good enough, and it may be better so.
i tried to come out, all what happened
is i made a mess out of it, fell on my nose,
experienced all my insufficiency as somebody to stay with,
and now i cannot sleep anymore.

i didn't care enough for the other one,
obviously i had not learned how to do this,
not faced with deep frustration which took me
to blindness in my self into which i fell.

i cannot take myself out of there,
i can only make it a better place to live inside.
and i can create ways for joy,
if not for another one, then for me.

still, i wish to do many things,
travel, see, drink the water of life.
i wish to do it in peace.
i will grow a skin on my soul,
may it be transparent or not,
but i feel i go into resistance to all
and to everybody who tries
to penetrate and infect me.
i see only light inside
and the light of nature.

i see one light in another human,
and i frightened her off.
I couldn't be home in the parallel
world of her coldness, her fear
and her  isolation or whatever it is.
i felt not called.
where i saw joy,
i suddenly felt a burden,
and maybe i cannot carry.

my light is not strong
enough for two.
my own black dungeons
are a burden for her.
she will not carry
my cage.

we could not now see each other,
come near,
translation spoiled the poem.

also i know i cannot
fill any expectation of any person
who believes one can be
a higher developed human
and another may be primitive and inferior,
kindness is not a matter
of education or evolution
but  a gift to be cared for,
it comes out of simplicity and humility
and it is just this.

in all my daily life
i am humble and mostly kind.
i try to say and act
"tat tvam asi".
But here i am helpless,
and only love
and to be loved
could help.

i cannot be loved,
so i must be humbly satisfied
that many humans around like me,
like me for who i am
not only for what i do.
i am busy now
helping my horse
to like and to trust me.

i failed,
being in love
is a beautiful delusion
given by the Gods.
I wake up,
I see i still love
but quite possibly cannot do it.

this is the story
which started as a poem
and ends with being
a monk
kissing trees.

fear is winning,
helplessness turns into war,
and humanity is without hope.
i don't know why a God
has to create man and woman,
why he drove us to propagate
and to feel desire,
but without the impulse
of Eros, without longing
and pain, the song of the birds
and whispered words
turn into noise.

Even silence is another sound,
when love turns into a word
and fear takes presence.