Paweł Szkołut
The White Doors
There are doors
the white doors next to which
flowers don’t grow
nor butterflies fly
when opening
– they are being opened and speak up
the old high double-wing doors
placed in the infinite
space of the Universe
here among the yellow walls
of the prewar flat
they stand in a silent speech
they don’t evoke aesthetic feelings
rather they create a metaphysical silence
when I stand in front to
look and listen
then I am going through
and I eat an apple
there are the doors which
I am passing through
there is myself and the taste of apple
there is He who Is
there is He who was
there is He who will be
1983
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