The Singing

The Singing
By Misha Feigin

When I become this rain
and these dark still trees
touching the restless air
with their swollen buds,
I will be this soft humid night,
and this golden shining lamp
by the window in a quiet room.
When I become a reflection
of the lamp in your eyes,
I will become you, and you
will be a bird, perched
on a naked tree branch,
a ruffled sparrow crazy with
spring, full of longing, delight,
and pain that will become
this song, but
who will be the singer?

Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight.

Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless;
the singing will never be done.

-- Siegfried Sassoon

The War Poems of Siegfried Sassoon

In order to overcome our desires and to renounce all those things, our love and inclination for which are wont so to inflame the will that it delights therein, we require a more ardent fire and a nobler love.
– Saint John of the Cross

'Unformed people delight in the gaudy and in novelty.
Cooked people delight in the ordinary.'

~Zen Saying