Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the beach,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it’s not;

to squeeze inside events,
hang out in views,
and seek the least of all possible mistakes.

A fantastic chance
to remember, for a moment,
a conversation
with the light switched off;

and, if only once,
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;
follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
keep on not knowing
something important.

 

Wislawa Szymborska, A note