the raft

it is dark on this side of the water
dark and cold on this side
i got used to the demons who live here
fear is security, too, for this is what i know,
this is what i know –
in the dark i am gathering sticks,
sticks and branches,
ropes, and string
I WILL BUILD A RAFT
wondering when the day will come
i gather sticks and branches,
ropes and string
i do not know
how to build a raft, i do not know
i am afraid
it might sink–
and how am i to know when i will have enough
sticks and branches, how will i know how to make
an effort with my hands and feet, how will i know how
to reach the other shore, how do i know where –
on brighter days i can sometimes see
dreamlike images of the promised land
and i believe
the tales of others who say they have seen it, clearly
i believe there is another shore
beyond
the sea, i believe in the freedom of suffering –

as a child i used to see the other side of the water,
the other shore of the Fl. fjord, the sun cast its rays onto that foreign land
i used to dream of crossing over, swimming, i was a strong swimmer
still, invariably i was sucked under
by the demons of the shallow depths
to wake up frightened –

still i stand on this side of the water,
in the darkness i hold my sticks,
my fear is all i know
sometimes i dream
I WILL BUILD A RAFT