*tuule makett - Infopoint Estonian Culture

2 2 5 / Tõnu Õnnepalu
And the word is smaller than this,
for really there is very little in the word.
Perhaps this or that, perhaps a lot,
perhaps almost everything remains outside the word.
The word is ill with it, always in pain over what it is not.
In pain over this morning,
in pain over the flesh and blood,
in pain over water and light,
in pain over being closed in the head.
It may be that this is my work, that this is
the pressing voice of the Nameless One speaking in me:
to let the word free, let it out of the head,
let it die, sow it into the vast earth of the unword,
into the darkness of myself and un-self,
outside the gates into the great light where Today is waiting,
where the wordless, shapeless, ever changing All is waiting.
And I myself should wait, not knowing for what,
cry and mourn for the word, weep for my self
that now has no name,
lie down on bare ground before the Gates
as beggars lie down to sleep in the open
and wait to be let in,
wait to get out,
wait for the Hour of Change, for the Unknown.