Reality demandsthat we also mention this:Life goes on.It continues at Cannae and Borodino,at Kosovo Polje and Guernica.There’s a gas stationon a little square in Jericho,and wet painton park benches in Bila Hora.Letters fly back and forthbetween Pearl Harbor and Hastings,a moving van passesbeneath the eye of the lion at Chaeronea,and the blooming orchards near Verduncannot escapethe approaching atmospheric front.There is so much Everythingthat Nothing is hidden quite nicely.Music poursfrom the yachts moored at Actiumand couples dance on the sunlit decks.So much is always going on,that it must be going on all over.Where not a stone still stands,you see the Ice Cream Manbesieged by children.Where Hiroshima had beenHiroshima is again,producing many productsfor everyday use.This terrifying world is not devoid of charms,of the morningsthat make waking up worthwhile.The grass is greenon Maciejowice’s fields,and it is studded with dew,as is normal grass.Perhaps all fields are battlefields,those we rememberand those that are forgotten:the birch forests and the cedar forests,the snow and the sand, the iridescent swampsand the canyons of black defeat,where now, when the need strikes, you don’t cowerunder a bush but squat behind it.What moral flows from this? Probably none.Only that blood flows, drying quickly,and, as always, a few rivers, a few clouds.On tragic mountain passesthe wind rips hats from unwitting headsand we can’t helplaughing at that.
- Wislawa Szymborska
(to all the children giggling and playing in the snow in this seemingly unexpected maze in a random city block in Berlin. No grand and formal tribute could ever match the beauty of your snow doodles.)

Reality demands
that we also mention this:
Life goes on.
It continues at Cannae and Borodino,
at Kosovo Polje and Guernica.

There’s a gas station
on a little square in Jericho,
and wet paint
on park benches in Bila Hora.
Letters fly back and forth
between Pearl Harbor and Hastings,
a moving van passes
beneath the eye of the lion at Chaeronea,
and the blooming orchards near Verdun
cannot escape
the approaching atmospheric front.

There is so much Everything
that Nothing is hidden quite nicely.
Music pours
from the yachts moored at Actium
and couples dance on the sunlit decks.

So much is always going on,
that it must be going on all over.
Where not a stone still stands,
you see the Ice Cream Man
besieged by children.
Where Hiroshima had been
Hiroshima is again,
producing many products
for everyday use.
This terrifying world is not devoid of charms,
of the mornings
that make waking up worthwhile.

The grass is green
on Maciejowice’s fields,
and it is studded with dew,
as is normal grass.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields,
those we remember
and those that are forgotten:
the birch forests and the cedar forests,
the snow and the sand, the iridescent swamps
and the canyons of black defeat,
where now, when the need strikes, you don’t cower
under a bush but squat behind it.

What moral flows from this? Probably none.
Only that blood flows, drying quickly,
and, as always, a few rivers, a few clouds.

On tragic mountain passes
the wind rips hats from unwitting heads
and we can’t help
laughing at that.

- Wislawa Szymborska

(to all the children giggling and playing in the snow in this seemingly unexpected maze in a random city block in Berlin. No grand and formal tribute could ever match the beauty of your snow doodles.)

  1. biutifulpics reblogged this from amandarust
  2. jadhak said: Great post :)
  3. amandarust posted this