Hibernation
Gone is the sun and the light of the world
with a vengeance replaced by the cold Scandinavian winter
of icicle beauty and permanent frost
without mercy with dreadful slow silence
deep-freezing the hearts and the minds of the Hyperboreans
replacing all life with lethargic melancholy
and sleepy heaviness with only one cure:
the headache of alcoholism,
while the bears only are wise enough to go really to sleep
to pass winter over in wise passive silence,
the wisest of animals, while man, the craziest,
just goes on working like hell
celebrating the madness of Christmas,
while wisdom and love is forgotten and drenched
in the sorrows of drinking depressions
while more people die than in any of the other seasons
of spleen or just tiredness, suicide or common depression.
But light can not die and survives in the soul,
where the sunlight is brighter than ever in heaven
if only you let the creative spirit have vent,
recognition and any attention to its neverending potential
which is more efficient than any solarium,
and that's the best way to survive winter horrors of darkness:
let out the creativeness, don't let it slow down,
go to sleep or get drowned in the dreary depression
but let creativity flow,
for although all the sunlight gets niggard and sparse
with the intimidations and threats of starvation to death,
there is nothing in heaven or earth
that can check the light or cease the flow
of all that which you carry around in your soul
as your main source of life and of love and creation.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-11-29 at 13:25
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