Thankyou Note, Wislawa Szymborska
I owe a lot to those I don't love.
Relief, with which I approve
that they are closer to someone else.
Joy that it's not me who the wolf
among their sheeps.
I have peace with them
and I am free with them,
and this is what love can
neither give nor take.
I don't wait for them
from window to door.
Patient
almost like a solar clock,
I understand
what love doesn't,
I forgive,
what love would never forgive.
Between a meeting and a letter
there is not an eternity,
but simply a few days or weeks.
My journeys with them are always successful,
concerts heard,
cathedrals visited,
landscapes clear.
And when we're separated
by seven mountains and rivers,
they are mountains and rivers
well known from the maps.
It's only thanks to them,
that I live in three dimensions,
in space unlyrical and unrhetorical,
with real since stable horizon.
They don't know themselves,
how much they carry in their empty hands.
'I don't owe them anything' -
love would say
about this open topic.
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