Skeleton of a candle

Skeleton of a candle,
gnawed away under the
watchful eyes
of the mother of God.

The bit of warmth
resounded
in the masonry.
Wishes still hover here,
for the new year,
which is going off outdoors.

Copyright: Owi Nandi

The question of sense

The question of sense, as such,
should not be viewed
as detached
from the belief in love.

        Photo by Thomas Marent

And you go on ambling

And you go on ambling
by the villages and hostels
and hope again
for humans,
who do not give you
stones when bread was asked.
And you still hope
that there is something,
and that somebody pays you,
in case you fall among robbers.

Copyright: Owi Nandi

Eyes to see, ears to hear

Then and when,
life knocks at me, knocks at the door,
and wants to make me believe.

It lets me feel my body, in my lifetime,
a river on its journey,
always further away
from the playful brook.

Then, I conquer back my augustness,
the youth, the faith.
I see and hear-
in silence and darkness, too.

Copyright: Owi Nandi

       Photo by Thomas Marent

Iris

In the small, silty rivulet
along the railway dam
stood the first one
which I noticed consciously
The first Iris
with smooth, blade-like leaves.

Its shape settled down immediately
in my imagination
as if I had only
waited for this being.
I never saw it blossom
but its name did not let me go.
I dug it out and planted it
in my parents' garden
where it never flowered
only waiting for a day to die.

I saw Iris flowers
growing on meagre limestone
on the long slope above Delphi
on a Greek Easter day,
at the beginning of April,
in a short, pale-green meadow
with some junipers.

An enchanted couple on short stalks
with big, full flowers
in the midst of this barrenness.
The Attic Iris, perhaps,
one pale yellow
the other violet-brown.

A pair that complements
not far from the place
where I turned back the first day
without having seen
the snow-covered summit of Mount Parnassos.

I met them in hundreds
all together as picked holy flowers
at the feet of a risen Virgin Mary
during the Easter week in Seville.
Small blue Iris flowers,
with yellow marks in their gullets,
lined up to form a carpet beneath
a motionless statue
which was later carried through the crowd.

Copyright: Owi Nandi