Poem by the Swedish writer Karl Vennberg (1910-95)

But even this sun is homeless

But even this sun is homeless

burns homeless

with gleaming grains of fire,

brandishes homeless

its torches against the dark,

protects itself in vain

with a silver-white radiance.

Ah even this sun is homeless.

What then can blind hands find?

Are the seeking groping yearning themselves

merely homeless light from a homeless sun?

Yes, homeless light is everything refracted

through the lenses of the body or the soul:

trickery and truth

affliction and lies.

The same blind laws and lawlessnesses

watch over light and lenses.

So tend, presumptuous humanity,

the flowers of belief and unbelief

sprouting from fire and loathing,

lure lust to you with the honey of lust,

root yourself with pain

at a painful truth.

The same homelessness is lust and truth,

all shall be reduced to the same focus

Oh to gain alone one’s focus

and there be consumed by fire,

oh to return homeless

to an eternal homelessness.

Oh to be lifted from a conflagration

of lust and lies

up towards gleaming

mountains of fire,

homelessly brandishing torches,

shadows and

silver-like radiance.