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Poems
by
Else Lasker-Schuler |
An
Old Tibetan Carpet
Your
soul in love with mine
is
woven with it in the Tibetan carpet.
Beam
in beam, enamored colors,
stars
that wooed across the heavens.
Our
feet rest upon the treasure
thousands
upon thousands of meshes wide.
Sweet
lama son on a musk-plant throne,
how
long has your mouth kissed mine.
And
cheek upon cheek, how many lifetimes brightly tied.
Song of the Blessed
Sabaoth
speaks out of the evening:
Be
prodigal-spend all your love!
So
I may give you my crown pearls,
transform
your blood into golden drops of honey,
and
soak your lips with the scent of sweet almonds.
Be
prodigal-spend all your love!
And
gild my feasts with molten jubilation,
planting
in the melancholy that weighs on Jerusalem
singing
umbrella blossoms.
And
your heart will become a splendid garden
where
poets dream.
Oh,
your heart will become a hanging garden,
homeland
of every dawn,
and
stars will enter your nights
whispering
their light.
Yes,
your arms will raise a thousand reaching branches,
and
rocking, comfort my passion to return to paradise!
Homesick
I cannot
speak the language
of
this cool country,
or
keep its pace.
Even
the fleeting clouds
I
cannot interpret.
The
night is a step-queen.
Forever
I must remember Pharoah's forests,
and
kiss the image of my stars.
My
lips sparkle brightly
and
tell of faraway.
I
am a colorful picture-book
lying
open on your lap.
But
your face spins
a
veil of tears.
Out
of my glittering birds
the
corals have been gouged.
Upon
the garden bushes
their
soft nests turned to stone.
Who
will consecrate my dead palaces?
They
held the crowns of my ancestors,
whose
prayers sank in the holy stream
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