An Austro-American Quilt

My heart, my soul, my very self
Is but a many-textured quilt,
It's cover is with varied visions filled,
Composed of all the facets of my mind,
The light, the dark, the gray in it I find,
Love, hope, despair are
Sewn there side by side,
Pictured emotions and dreams
Ranging far and wide,
With colors changing
With the moods of day and night,
Sunny reflections by day,
Or stardust burning bright,
The good, the evil and indifferent
Are there displayed,
Sometimes the ageing fabric
Of my quilt becoming frayed,
My Viennese identity
Often comes to the fore,
At other times my New York self
Does make the score,
The colored pattern of my quilt
Is neither here nor there
And sometimes I do sense
And feel that I'm not anywhere,
But then I tell myself
That I'm complete and everywhere,
And so my quilt is fully
Embroidered with illusions,
My ego quite erect, denying
That I live under delusions,
But in reality I'm still in doubt
About my conclusions,
Since any man's soul is but
A many-patterned quilt,
Ever changing from birth
Till his last breath is stilled...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2007 Alfred Charasz