THE WHITE SWANS

By John Jude Palencar

In a foreign country with unknown language
Sitting on the porch, watching, listening,
Letting people, events, experiences passing by
Some are nice, some hypocrite, crazy, harmful

Especially in these days I look at myself and ask:
How come that so so much I have not seen?
And what to do about wrong and harmful doings I know of?
I stumbled about a 'stone' - must I make it known to others?

I learn to accept for myself care and help
Knowing: everything less than respect is unacceptable
Healing, growing, understanding, speaking out
And I say to myself with gratitude and joy:

'You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Daring to hold hands with the Sacred One
I know I hear the music with such longing
But never learnt to dance as it was demanded

You have not danced ugly at all, my dear
A shy crushed child, a broken vessel
You have tangoed with great style
Your own style in your unique world

The child, the woman, faithful and true
You claimed to near God's heart even more
In following the call of our King of Love
You have indeed danced lovely, dear brave woman'