The maiden’s fright and flight are the
sword and the claws.
From her flight and fright the sword is
forged and the claws sharpened.
She dies at every moment, therefore she
lives.
She flees at every moment, therefore she
stays put.
She assimilates force and counterforce,
therefore she vacillates.
She vacillates, therefore she is balanced.
Her crown, cloak and folded hands belong to
the battle, not to her,
but the battle belongs to her.
It is on her the battle lives:
she is its decoy.
O profound stillness, shrouded in storm!
You are like a doll discarded by a child,
passively complying with what is
meaningless!
For the one who sees through the battle you
come forward.
For the one who sees through you you
disappear,
for he disappears into you:
A gate that opens, a road that winds away.
On that road a lonely figure that recedes.
The same figure that grows distant and
disappears,
time and time again the same
that disappears time and time again:
optical illusion and parthenogenesis.
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