2 1 My Armful of Gifts Draga Gelt My Armful of Gifts Draga Gelt Melbourne 2015 Draga on arrival to Australia in 1968 (born 1948) Books by Draga: Svet na?ih otrok - World of Our Children, compilation of childrens art and essays, International Year of the Child, 1979 Slovenians from the Earliest Times, 1985 Vse poti - All Paths, book of poetry in Slovenian language, 1991 A new Country is Born - Slovenia, 1991 Let?s Learn Slovenian Part 1, Language Manual, 1992, with Magda Pi?otek and Marija Penca Lonely Planet Mediterranean Europe Phrase Book, Slovenian language contribution, 1992 Do you know Slovenian?, Language Manual, 1998 Do you know Slovenian?, Basic Grammar Rules, Language Manual, 1998 Life Be in It - World Games Book, Slovenian games contribution, 1998 Let?s Learn Slovenian, Part 2, Language Manual, 1999, with Magda Pi?otek and Marija Penca Let?s Learn Slovenian, Part 3, Language Manual, 1999, with Magda Pi?otek and Marija Penca Mir in dobro - Pax et Bonum, Chronicle of Slovenian Franciscans Priests and Nuns in Australia, 2001, with Veronika Ferfolja Anthology of Slovenian Artists and Sculptors in Australia, 2009, with Liliana Eggleston Toma?i? Chronicle of Slovenian Schools and Slovenian Language Teachers in Australia, 2010 Golden Harvest and Beyond, Chronicle of Slovenian Association, 2010 From Dreams to Reality, Chronicle of Activities of Slovenians in Australia at the Time of Slovenian Independence, 2011 I am a Sovenian too, compilation of essays and Lego displays, 2013 Contents Foreword by Kath Brown B. Ed. 7 My Mother?s Gift 9 My Father?s Gift 11 Gift of my Oldest Sister Francka 13 Gift of my Second Sister Ivanka 15 G ift of my Third Sister Mici 17 Gift of my Fourth Sister Pavla 19 Gift of my Fifth Sister Vera 21 Gift of my Sixth Sister Ton?ka 23 Gift of my Seventh Sister Minka 25 Gift of the Ninth in the Family, My Brother Ivan 27 A Thorn Nest 29 My life?s Miracle are my two children. I was given great gifts! 29 Eric?s Gift 31 Frances? Gift 33 Nobody 35 Imagine 37 Dreams 39 I Feel: It is Beautiful 41 The Rainbow 41 Everyday 43 My Armful of Gifts is a collection of writings, originaly in Slovenian language, dedicated to my family: written and illustrated first in 1991, with additions in 2015. Draga Design and layout by Draga Gelt OAM ? Copyright ISBN: 978-0-9871149-4-5 Printed and bound by Mark Collier, New Artworx, Melbourne Foreword ?Draga?s little book, is a beautiful and original tribute to her family, carefully set out with each parent and sibling described as a ?Gift? to her. Their lifes, and their love, knowing them in her life - she feels, are the gifts to her. What a wonderful family it must have been -- even her father, who seemed to reject everyone including perhaps his large family, is thanked for his gift to his children, of strength. Particularly poignant too, is the salutation to her 3rd sister, who she never knew, who died on Christmas Day, only seven years old, the peacefulness of her grave site in the cemetery garlanded with the flowers they often brought to it. Her poetry is written with obvious love and with a great deal of talent, each poem shaped within the beautiful cover. The illustrations ? sketches of her subjects, are part of each tribute. This book is a gift to her family, so far away, and so much missed, and I am sure they will treasure it as it should be treasured - a small but wonderful gift of beauty. From it, others may see more clearly the joys of their own family, and appreciate both the writing and the sentiments so well expressed.? Kath Brown B.Ed. (Bachelor of Education), U3A Creative Writing Teacher Melbourne, September 2015 Mother in 1955 (born 1906, died 1961) My Mother?s Gift (1991) Eight daughters, the ninth child is a son - I?m the eighth. A poor family. Mother fed us, how, I still do not understand. One after the other we dried her breasts; the last piece of food she shared with us. She gave us so much: life. She cut our soul?s daily bread: She taught us love and respect for justice - every day. I remember her tired face, where worries and life?s trials Ploughed for the final harvest . . . Deep pain, hunger, fear and despair have frozen her inside, Crushed her soul into a shadow which silently followed us And entwined us with courage and strength. Until her final breath she fought, the thirteenth child in her family, in a painful illness; With final strength her heart trembled in fear for our future, Until exhausted she faltered. How rich is her gift to me. Saturday?s gift (2015) Mum, is has been 54 years since you parted from us And were laid to your final resting place next to your little daughter, Surrounded by linden and fir trees. You are forever in our hearts and in our thoughts. You gave us all such a great gift. Father in 1958 (born 1908, died 1966) My Father?s Gift (1991) A stepmother dictated to my father not to be a child: Gentleness was hardly known to him, and so to Mum, and to us, He could not show loving care - one did not show feelings then. Early in the morning he left for work in snow and summer?s heat - We saw him only when he returned with no smile of joy for us. He was our beginning, but we felt no welcome. He was always alone: if we came close, we became frightened of him, We moved away collecting courage for another step closer to him. Pride, heavy thoughts - he closed the paths of joy for himself, Throwing sharp stones on the path, which led us to him. We?ve fallen many times and tried again . . . Without one leg after the amputation, proud, alone, He broke the thread of his own life. With a cry into our hearts he cut the thread and gave us strength. He died in solitude. A very special gift of strength he gave us. Saturday?s gift (2015) Dad, it has been 49 years since you took your own life And were laid to rest next to Mum and your daughter, In a quiet cemetery, next to the church. Mum?s and your graves are always carefully cared for and decorated. Thank you for your gift. Francka in 1956 (born 1931) The Gift of my Oldest Sister Francka (1991) Francka, so young you had to leave home to become a maidservant with mum?s relatives, So mum could give us bread . . . There was too much work there and you could not go to school anymore: You cared for their children, listened to their chatter and cries for their mum ? In your heart you cried. You served food to them and for your work you were given some flour, For us, younger sisters, for our bread . . . So young you gave so much for us; hid your pain so we were fed, gave us space, so all of us, Me too, were able to stay with mum . . . You led me to the beauty of books, which you always loved. Poems, novels, biographies and research - you led me to the secrets of books. I started to love the beauty of words and became thirsty for knowledge. I loved to learn And respected the richness of them. Francka, with your husband Vinko, daughter Olga and son Roman, in respect of the bread and of Life?s continuation you started to live again in memories of your youth . . . Saturday?s Gift (2015) I received a Gift this year. I could go and see you, Francka, You are 84 now. It was Saturday when you greeted me at the airport, but it was Monday, when I started my stay with You and your family. Not all members any more. You lost your son 7 years ago. The silver in your hair, the deep lines on your face - Proof of a harsh and sad life. Your eyes mirror the pain, the fear; the health worries for yourself and your husband. Worries for the daughter, grandchildren and Great Grandchildren. There is a sparkle in your eyes when they visit you. For a while. The backstabbing illness ? cancer and dementia Have stolen your happy moments and covered them with uncertainty, worries, Fear of the unknown. The moments you cannot recall. You are tired, very tired. I am grateful for all gifts. Ivanka in 1955 (born 1932) The Gift of my Second Sister Ivanka (1991) Ivanka, your eyes are like the lenses of a camera: always looking for a beautiful picture, caressing People, nature - everything alive . . . You were photographing and always added the feelings of warmth, Joy, kindness, poverty and goodness to your pictures; but always with a sense of compassion. In the Second World War you were little - fear and poverty gave you no toys: Too fast you had to grow up, but you gave me a doll and a pram ? You gave me, what you never had yourself. Ivanka, proverbs and dogmas you bound into verses to fill friend?s books of memoirs. Your pages were always decorated with drawings and paintings . . . Ivanka you and your husband Stane felt early fate?s pain, when your six-year-old son Boris was killed on The road, crushed to death . . . Poor Ivanka, you fainted on his grave. Boris? death stilled your painting brush: the rainbow of your life changed into empty greyness . . . Ivanka, you showed me, how life is like a candle: sometimes barely alive, but the next moment strong And bright again, its flame offering light and hope. After years of emptiness and hope, Your daughters Vesna and Beti were born; and illness took your husband and now you are a widow, And a grandmother. When will you again bind into verses proverbs and wishes? In friends? books of memoirs? Sunday?s Gift (2015) I received a Gift on Sunday. Ivanka, you are 83 now. You greeted me on Saturday. On Sunday my stay with you began. The camera lenses are resting, bring you no joy, the days are filled with anger, Fear and relieving the war times many evenings, with all the frightening experiences. Vivid memories. Frightening times. No more drawing and painting. The watercolour paper remains blank, And paints untouched. Words have lost their power and wishes do not rime any more. Daughters and grandchildren bring you joy. You struggle with memories ? some are so clear, Others in a veil of dementia. The national costumes and parades were your dreams for 26 years, But the body is tired, the legs do not obey: cramping while you walk. Days are filled with worries, empty, Repetition of words and statements. You find peace in the garden with flowers and no words. Mici born 1934, died 1941 The Gift of my Third Sister Mici (1991) I did not know Mici, have never seen her; as a seven-year-old girl she died . . . Many graves were decorated with flowers - Some of them so small, with tiny crosses . . . In these graves were little children, even younger then Mici. For a long time I could not recognize her gift to me: she gave me courage, I could often, without fear, visit her grave by the chapel And decorate it with flowers and light candles . . . Another Saturday Gift (2015) On Saturdays we took flowers and candles to the family grave, Cleared the weeds and said a prayer. It is so still and silent at the cemetery, With all the graves beautifully cared for and decorated. Very peaceful. Just like you, Mici. You died on Christmas Day, 76 years ago. Pavla in 1959 (born 1936) The Gift of my Fourth Sister Pavla (1991) Pavla, dark-haired and dark eyed; life gave you little joy, many tears . . . You have hidden dreams and pain in plants; in the garden . . . In their growth you felt they were part Of yourself, felt with them when they grew, flowered and bore fruit. The windows of your home are always filled with carnations, Geraniums, cacti and petunias - in garden beds were zinnias, impatiens, asters, Violets and phoenyroses . . . Your tears were hidden in the flowers of snowdrops And lilies of the valley in the middle of a forest; you have hidden among those memories of dreams And hopes into colourful knitted patterns you wove your tears, And into crochet work, and tapestries, and embroideries; with every stitch you buried your pain deeper - With every stitch pain transformed your dreams into petals, flowers and hearts. You gave me the gift of feeling nature?s heart beat . . . In a car accident you broke your vertebrae; with your strong will you started to walk - your husband Jo?e Was always at your side. For two and a half years you could not use your right arm And after a successful operation last year, you cross yourself in blessing . . . Monday?s Gift (2015) On Monday you taught me to make special doughnuts. So carefully you weight and mixed all The ingredients, let them rest and formed the cute balls to fry ? just perfect. The flowers always decorate all you window boxes; The garden flourishes with vegetables and fruits ? All yummy. You are a carer for your husband ? his open leg wounds have net heeled in years. With love, patience and hope. You change the bandages many times a day in hope for improvement ? In vain. You showed me the collection of beautifully decorated Easter eggs since 1960s on which your carefully scratched patterns and flowers. Your arm is not strong enough to hold the Embroidery needle or the knitting needles and you cannot create any more. At times your mind plays Tricks on you and you fear intruders ? you see and hear them. The body is tired; the memory of times is poor, forgetting often. But you like to laugh. Sometimes at yourself as well, And you find peace among the flowers in most seasons. Vera in 1953 (born 1938) The Gift of my Fifth Sister Vera (1991) Vera, your childhood years were filled more with thorns than flowers. As my Confirmation sponsor You bought me my first, my very own dress. You believed in the miraculous power of the mountains Just like Johanne Spyri?s ?Heidi?; you believed in the calming waves of the sea and soft cushion of moss And the forest?s whisper . . . Vera, you showed me little things: the rainbow in a dewdrop, A butterfly?s feelers and caring for its wings. You led me among fields of flowers: to buttercups and Daisies, warned me about the pyrethrum in their centres, which kills flies and told me how in sunflowers The sun finds its reflection, in its petals it hides its rays and in its seeds hides the energy. Your words, softly, gently spoken, remined me of a butterfly. Your work, delicate and perfect - you typed my final assignments - Reminds me of symmetrical, accurate, bee?s honeycomb . . . The heart of your husband Ludvik yearned for an early rest and you became a widow; Du?an and Rok, your sons, are there to give you courage and to lighten your life. Vera, do you still hear whispering forests? Do you still see the flutter of butterfly?s wings? Vera, do you still feel the gifts of the fields? Tuesday?s Gift (2015) It was Tuesday when we enjoyed the classical concert ? So much youth, so much talent! You gave me a Book of poetry, Lovely Love verses with the pain of the age entwined. You still love to read, enjoy Musicals, opera, drama, comedies and recitals. You still find the rainbow in a dewdrop every morning. Still believe in the miraculous power of the mountains ? We walked together on a green mountain Pastures, covered with wild flowers among the white rocks. We looked closely on scented flowers hiding By the cliffs and followed the yellow butterflies on the narrow return path. And you love to walk on sunny mornings at the coast. Waves of the Adriatic Sea crushing to the rocks And cliffs. You enjoy describing your children and grandchildren, their play and enthusiasm. You often walk with them on a path by the forest when sun plays in the fields by the brook. You quietly visit your husband?s grave in shadows of cypress trees, And you were the second sister to visit me in Australia, Enjoying the untouched landscape and happy, smiling people Vera, you still listen to whispering forests And enjoy flutter of butterfly?s wings among the gifts of the fields. Ton?ka in 1962 (born 1942, died 2001) The Gift of my Sixth Sister Ton?ka (1991) Long, blonde plaits decorated your head when you were young, reminded me of plaited wheat . . . With you I went to the mountains, first on bikes, then we walked climbed and carried rucksacks; For the very first time I saw Gentian, rhododendron and edelweiss . . . Your eyes rushed to the mountaintops, greeting the sunrise, hid in your hands when storms arose and Rested on snowfields; but always they drank in the beauty of the mountains . . . I followed the direction of your eyes: forever they enriched me with a love of mountains. You showed me, how the mountains were rushing to me. I am richer, for you introduced me to classical Music - your heart would stop, when you heard an aria from the opera Nabucco. I am richer for your love of the theatre and desire for folk dances. In Germany you gave your husband Rado a son Radko, and you fed me, and when back in Slovenia You had Matja?, too. In despair, when Matja? drowned, your eyes lowered, Their depth filled with tears, they lost their shine - your eyes were turned from sky in a shadowy cascade Of tears . . . I wish I could give you back the light of hope ? to show you again path to the sky! When will my prayers of gratitude, for your gifts to me, be heard? So you could again see the beauty of the mountains and feel the hope? . . . Wednesday?s Gift (2015) Ton?ka, 15 years ago, the cancers took you away from us. On Wednesday was your anniversary ? we Visited your grave, where you rest peacefully with your so much loved son Matja?. We brought you some Mountain wild flowers ? you were always enchanted by them, just a few, for you only. We lit many candles and the flames were flickering into the sunny sky above the graves. Ton?ka, you were in our thoughts: so much love for us all in the family; So many smiles and so many sighs when your eyes turned to the Alps ? Your kingdom of beauty, enthusiasm, strength, endurance in climbing and respect of the high and mighty, Towering mountain tops, snow capped, and all above 2,700 metres. You conquered them all. The candles were lit late into the night, when we left, but you have never left us ? you are always in our Hearts. Your home is empty ? you are not there. But at times it feels, you are there with us, smiling and Embroidering red carnations into white doilies. You are in a peaceful place, with no pain, no worries You are surrounded by Love. I know you can feel our love for you, I know you can. So great are your gifts. Minka in 1964 (born 1944) The Gift of my Seventh Sister Minka (1991) Your hair plaits were dark, long and strong; your words spoken always accurately . . . Minka, you taught me to economize: everything was to be dried, bottled and stored for winter. Beautiful memories you stored too: in bad times you found them again in your store, Invited the sun light in, on the darkest days . . . Your eyes always shine with courage, hope and laughter, even while worried. Minka, you gave me love for animals, the ability to listen to their silent footsteps, To read their faithful eyes. Remember the book ?Fox and the Wolf?? How the fox tricked the wolf into Carrying it while wounded, and the fox, with painted wounds, laughed at him? Minka, always full of laughter, joy, enjoyed wearing carnival dresses and in your years of worries and pain kept high spirits. Minka and your husband Janko, how you dance in your national costume, proud of your son Jani, and your daughter Lidija gave you two grandchildren. Minka, will our wishes for happiness and joy come true? Thursday?s Gift (2015) Minka, you have greeted me at the airport, but I came to stay with you for a while on Thursday, Celebrating your Birthday. Minka, your beautiful memories were entwined with lots of pain ? The pain and sorrow were deeply cut into your face: Cancer, treatments, a problem husband, Devoted to drink, financial worries, and job loss. In late nineteen nineties you were the first sister who had courage to come and see me in Australia ? What a celebration for us! We have seen some of the closest beautiful pearls of Victoria. You have enjoyed the tree ferns the most. You wished, you could stay among them for a long time, To breathe the fern freshness, the moist soil, and enjoy the sunlight playing through huge leaves, Swaying in the wind. The botanical gardens enchanted you and the sunset of the Twelve Apostles Brought tears to your eyes. You enjoyed Melbourne as well, my family, and our walks among the Magnificent eucalypts. You wished to capture the healthy scent of the eucalyptus oil. So fresh, so unique. No, Minka! 3 years ago - not cancer again: more treatments, more pain. How much more can your body endure? How much more can Your soul endure? And your gifts are so great! Ivan in 1970 (born 1950, died 1974) The Gift of the Ninth in the Family, my Brother Ivan (1991) Ivan, the youngest, the only son - we played together, listened to each other And competed with each other for mother and father?s love . . . We dreamed of great happiness when we would grow up. Ivan wished to see the World: Young and full of enthusiasm, we cycled to the Adriatic Sea in one night. You wished to see Africa, the jungle, the African people and animals. When I left our homeland, you gave me a tape of the waltzes of Johann Strauss Which we listened, and danced to, many times. Your gift to me is awareness of bird life: birds fascinated you, You knew most of their names and their calls. Your gift to me is the whisper of an uncompleted garden refuge, Where you longed for many trees and plants . . . You could not enjoy the happiness of your daughter?s fifth birthday. Your poor wife Lojzka! The speeding of a careless driver killed you, A pedestrian, just ten metres from your home. We are richer for your gifts. Saturday Gift once more (2015) And the grave again. Ivan, it has been over 40 years since we lost you. We think of you often, and we know, you are in a safe place, with Mum and Dad, And your sister you have never met. Every candle we lit, we imagine how you would be, If you have not parted. The garden you dreamed of is not there, The trees have never grown where you planted them, The time has stopped. For you. Your daughter Mojca has a family now, two lovely children. She was only four and she can hardly remember you. But she has your dark hair curls, and strong Features, and your grandson too. You would be proud of them: both excelling at school. Every time birds sing, we think of you and your love for the birds and animals, you have never seen. Every time the wind caresses the tree crowns, we think of you. Thank you for your gift. Husband Jo?e (born 1942, died 2008) A Torn Nest (1988) Every pain tears a straw from the nest. The webs only are left, starting to tear: More and more is demanded from a finch . . . There is nothing left to demand: Empty, hollow, Emptiness surrounded with transparent webs. There is nothing left to give . . . I Feel My life?s miracles are my two children. I was given great gifts! Eric in 1971, 1980 and 1991 (born 1971) Eric?s Gift (1991) Eric, I felt you for the very first time - as if I was given another heart, A tiny, little heart, which came alive in me; my dreams became alive as your heart . . . Your little hands were giving me embraces, unspoken words, first steps and games - No mother can forget all this: so wonderful are these gifts. How your eyes shined and faithfully believed; how cute the first words that poured from your mouth . . . Your first wounds were healed by kisses, which gave you courage again. Proudly you read your First Reader and for Mother?s day and Father?s day Always drew pictures and performed for us, then sweetly fell asleep in my lap. You wanted to be brave, like a man, but on immobile face tears cut deeper and sharper . . . Eric, do not forget, your armful is full of stars and light - You are given these too; nobody can take them away from you: your stars and your thoughts. Nobody can take away your trophies for athletics and volleyball. You carve ideas in wood; you entwine deep roots with bonds of fluid into shapes of the past; Into signs - dreams of a forest?s stillness . . . Eric, happiness is in your lap: courage, stars, and light - you share with others. In this joy and freedom, do you feel, how your arms are being filled? . . . Every day?s Gift (2015) Eric, I know, I am very lucky to have you as a son. My son. Nearly 9 years ago you married to Liza and than your daughter Leah was born, and after your son Sebastian. Such a loving family. So warm. So many embraces, holding hands in trust, warm cuddles. So very proud of you! So many gifts of love. Very health conscious, loving outdoors, swimming, walking, many different sports, With dozens of trophies in volleyball. Leah loving reading, painting, drawing and cycling, listening to music. Sebastian mastering kindergarten. Many friends. Very skilful with ball games: football, soccer. Best times we have together: not liking the camera too much, But I still capture our happy moments for me to look at, when you are at your home. I am so grateful. Frances in 1974, 1982 and 1990 (born 1974) Frances? Gift (1991) Frances, I felt you for the very first time, as if again, I was given another heart, a small, tiny heart, Which became alive. For the second time my dreams became alive with your new heart . . . Your little hands have given me embraces, your little eyes, shining stars, Were shining in the gentleness of trust, your first words sang in a playful tune. In a game you begged fairies and astronauts for happiness for every home; In school you were among the top students always, full of courage and pride You performed in concerts for parents; you made and carefully wrapped gifts, You have always found things to make me happy . . . Frances, you are still giving your gifts. In sports teams we are always proud of you ? You help repair broken down bridges. You read the colours and the beauty of the sky, the beauty of the Evening kiss and the waves of the sea; your painting is like a dream, or a fairy-tale . . . In this fairytale of the sky you hide coloured lights of hope - You dance with sky dancers in a tune of a rainbow. You too, Frances, have your armful full of light and the strength of the stars. Among the stars tears are entwined, in the richness of dreams truths of realization are poured ? The symbolic cries of questions; nobody can take these riches from you, nobody, this is your rich armful. Frances, you always find some warmth for friends, kittens, puppies, Flowers - everything alive. Can you feel your armful being filled with joy? . . . Every day?s Gift (2015) Frances, I know, I am very lucky to have you as a daughter. My daughter. 11 years ago You married Adam. Your children: daughter Ashleigh and son Jeremy are growing up fast. Such a loving family. So warm. So many embraces and warm cuddles. So warm. So very proud of you! Very health conscious, loving outdoors, walking, many different sports, Art, enjoying dogs and cats ? lovely home for them. Ashleigh loving little children, caring for them. Jeremy wants to build houses. Best times we have together: laughing at my camera, When I capture our happy moments for me to look at, when you are at your home. I am so grateful for so many gifts of love. Nobody can take from me the sky: laughing azure; or the flowers, or the secretive magnificent forests. . . . Nobody can take away the drumming clouds; or the silken wings of a butterfly laughing at the dew; or the high cliffs, inviting to their rocky heart; or take away the songs from magnificent church organs and flutes of a shepherd . .. ? Nobody can take away the starry sky glittering in infinite space ... Nobody can take the bird?s song: lifting over the shadows of tree crowns reflecting in the morning mist; or the waves of the sea; cradled in eternal rhythm, seeking narrow cliff exit. . . Nobody can take away from me the rainbow span above a washed landscape, or a dewdrop, a silver tear trembling on the leaves hurrying into the sun?s warmth . . . Nobody can take away from me the wind, caressing the tree crowns, playing in child?s hair curls; or the breath of spring awakening in a snowdrop . . . Nobody can take the summer?s heat and the glitter of golden wheat . . . Nobody. N O B O D Y can take the richness of autumn, burdened with the weight of ripe fruits; or the winter?s, flowers of ice . . . Nobody can take from me the beginning of a new day, or a new day, or the goodbye of an evening, or the magic of the night . . . Nobody can take the inviting scent of rosemary plaited into memories; or warmth of fire flames like burning rubies . . . Nobody can take away the silence of a stone tumbling in a river, or my memories, wrapped into the veil of past . . . Nobody can take dreams away from me, rushing to the sky in a rainbow of colours; or the sunlight, caressing with warmth . . . Nobody can take my faith! I feel, barefoot in the grass, that I am safe, enclosed in a great power, humble in faith . . . Nobody can take all these riches from me: love, the rhythmically waving grass, the offered beauty of magnificent nature - the riches of a heart! ? ???? ????? Imagine we only were eyes . . . Depth, mysterious depth, mesmerizing drops of eternity, probing glow, silent joy, entice. Would we catch the shimmer of the skies and the vibrant browsing wave in moonlit sand, or feel the velvet bow of ferns in dew?s splendour? Walk barefoot in the grass, sigh in praise, breathe the fragrance of a budding spring; capture echoed dreams? Imagine we only were eyes . . . How would Mozart pray, and Domingo enhance Verdi?s grandeur? Could Curie x-ray, Monet kiss the Seine?s sunset, and Fonteyn?s swan live a day? Would Hamlet question, Darwin check silky wings of butterflies, Tesla capture water falls, Jung touch soul?s hidden shadow, or Barnard replace a tired heart? Imagine we only were eyes . . . No uttered words above the cliff, no whisper yearning in a moonlight; we could not sift through sand or catch a sunray in a coral reef? Imagine we only were eyes. . . Would we feel the trust?s heartbeat, choking grasp of the despair, breath of closeness, gentle stroke of hair, trembling hungry lips? Could we offer soothing tenderness, dance in harmony of warmth? Bird-song: would we hear; feel the call of peaceful stillness - wipe away a tear? Imagine we only were eyes. . . Would we feel the strength of hope, dancing snowflake, cradled raindrops in a flower, healing touch - a flame?s desire . . . Dreams Today dreams are like a light feather twirling, lifting to the sky, Like a seagull?s feather being cradled in the waves, Like a peacock tail? feathers widening in emerald coloured velvety richness . . . Today dreams are like a shell?s spiral embracing In its narrow whiteness a secret of the sea; It shuts in the whispering blue of the waves, shuts in its spiral sharp tremors of pain - Today dreams are like a shell, engulfing waves of peace, a force into itself . . . Today dreams are like silk threads - look, they shine like colourful beams, They dance, sing, turn, join into many silk veils Covering houses, fields, forests, singing, wrapped in warmth . . . Today dreams are like a clear bubble trying to embrace me, Like a bubble, which wants to hide me inside Wrapping me with countless threads full of pearls joined into a crown . . . Today dreams are like a mountain waterfall bathed in a song of morning light; Light which joins tiny droplets in a cool, caressing greeting; Into rainfall for which the birds give gratitude for each droplet And in the evening prepare new dreams . . . Where will dreams rush tomorrow? To edelweiss, high in the cliffs or to sing with the wind in sails at sea? Will they perhaps bow with wheat and join into the fragrance of flowers Or sing in a song of a nightingale? Will they soar to the sky, being welcomed into the blueness? Which will embrace them warmly, And a wish and the sky would become one? . . . I Feel: it is Beautiful . . . The Rainbow (1991) You cannot drown a rainbow! Where does the power come from? Which keeps you safe from destruction, ever present force? I follow the red colour in the rainbow, the colour of the power that attracts males and females when They walk and draw fulfilment of life; in carnations, roses and nigritellas the red colour flows And is captured in a ruby, where it shines in faith, respect and power? I follow the orange warmth of the sunset, when it parts with fiery kisses of the evening; And mirrors in the mountain lilies and arnica, and is reflected in amber? I follow the yellow, gold light of hope, truth and dedication, Scattered on all the fields of the world like buttercups; Transfused in a topaz as a symbol of knowledge and originality of ideas? I follow the green rainbow, the colour embracing Earth In a coat of peace and unity, climbing high up in the mountains, whispering secretly In the leaves of the forests, is evergreen under the snow and is caught in emeralds, The mirror of compassion and understanding? I follow the blue colour of peace, when it spreads above us And reflects in the sea; medicinal blue, healing blueness taken with me To forget-me-nots and Gentian - I seek blueness in a Safire, which with its hexagonal form of Crystallization invites into itself the infinite sky? I follow the purple rainbow colour of quiet wisdom, silent understanding, With justice and good intentions, hidden in violets which humbly wait - Like amethysts: in its colour of mourning it is evading the too bright sun? Every Day Every Day Every Day (2015) I follow the rainbow every day, With people I love in my heart. All the time. I miss very much my Mum, Dad, my two sisters, my brother and my two nephews and all the friends who died. But, I know, they are safe. Embraced by Love. All my loved ones are safe . . . And I receive so many warm embraces from children and grandchildren. And so many trusting holds of hands . . . So many Gifts. Thank you! God Bless You!