I would like to describe the simplest emotion br joy or sadness br but not as others do br reaching for shafts of rain or sun br br I would like to describe a light br which is being born in me br but I know it does not resemble br any star br for it is not so bright br not so pure br and is uncertain br br I would like to describe courage br without dragging behind me a dusty lion br and also anxiety br without shaking a glass full of water br br to put it another way br I would give all metaphors br in return for one word br drawn out of my breast like a rib br for one word br contained within the boundaries br of my skin br br but apparently this is not possible br br and just to say -- I love br I run around like mad br picking up handfuls of birds br and my tenderness br which after all is not made of water br asks the water for a face br br and anger br different from fire br borrows from it br a loquacious tongue br br so is blurred br so is blurred br in me br what white-haired gentleman br separated once and for all br and said br this in the subject br this is the object br br we fall asleep br with one hand under our head br and with the other in a mound of planets br br our feet abandon us br and taste the earth br with their tiny roots br which next morning br we tear out painfullybr br Zbigniew Herbertbr br