The Soul of the Unblemished Chalk

A white shaft, inert and pure,
Rests in a profound silence.
It knows neither schemes nor figures,
Only awaits future adventures.
Untouched, without marks yet,
Before its calling task claims it.

Yet, in the secret soul,
A wave of thoughts is stretched:
Bold curves, unexpected heights,
Formulas, drawings, lives newly born.
It will be a sign, a flower, an idea,
Before its white disperses.

It desires the slow shattering,
Its becoming dust upon the wind.
It fears not the decline, the disappearance,
But the mute echo of every creation.
In its dissolving, the true life:
Every trace, a lesson, a discovery.