I Want To Meet ... 

Armed, upright and shielded in armour 
I went forth - 
but from fear was the coat of mail cast 
and from shame. 

I want to throw down my weapons, 
sword and shield. 
All the stark hostility 
was my coldness. 

I have seen the dry seeds 
finally grow. 
I have seen the light green 
unfurl. 

Mighty is the tenderness of life 
stronger than iron, 
driven out of the heart of the Earth 
defenceless. 

Spring dawns in winter regions, 
where I froze. 
I want to meet the forces of life 
weaponless. 
 

Of course it hurts when buds burst. 
Otherwise why would spring hesitate? 
Why would all our fervent longing 
be bound in the frozen bitter haze? 
The bud was the casing all winter. 
What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts? 
Of course it hurts when buds burst, 
pain for that which grows 
and for that which envelops. 

Of course it is hard when drops fall. 
Trembling with fear they hang heavy, 
clammer on the branch, swell and slide - 
the weight pulls them down, how they cling. 
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided, 
hard to feel the deep pulling and calling, 
yet sit there and just quiver - 
hard to want to stay 
and to want to fall. 

Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond help, 
the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation, 
then, when fear no longer exists, 
the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer, 
forgetting that they were afraid of the new, 
forgetting that they were fearful of the journey - 
feeling for a second their greatest security, 
resting in the trust 
that creates the world.