The blue sky now turns into black
soft cold wind blows so ardently
I took the crumbs of my noonday breads
sat on the stone under the shadow of young tree
A night bird, faithful fellow
staring at the crumbs wanting to take some
I stretched my hands for her to reach
She nodded and landed her little feet on my palm
What do you long for, little fellow?
Moon
Moon, O man!
Do you see her?
No. I have been waiting here too
where does she go?
The tree shook up her leaves and whisper
She hides behind the thick clouds
She throws her feet and hands
fainted among the mountains and hills
She dives and sinks into oceans
Why is she making those journeys?
she should be at rest
O, little fellows
don't you know yet?
this world is spinning
it's without corner
Where then should I hide myself from the valiant storm?
I started singing
O man, if only you could fly with me or rest on my nest
there you can sing and soar
Dearest fellow, faithful fellow
since the world's without corner
I'll be still here
invisible, stay in absence
among the lilies and fragrant blossoms
until the wind blows me and I am gone
O, shade tree may I rest on your branches?
Go up here, little fellow
Then I took my staff
knock on the rock
and left
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A great poem, Son.
ReplyDeleteWriting a poem in a language which is not your mother tongue amplifies and enlivens the poetic element for the reader whose language it is.
Why? Because your use of words, lacking the depth of association that we have given them by our long use, are full of fresh associations placed into them by your own heart. We can see your vision better because your use of our words makes them transparent. Perhaps this is only true for me, but others may also feel what I am trying to describe.
It is a sensation in the area of the heart. It makes me jump, and it teases and playfully mocks all my former assumptions. This is what a great poem, not just a good one, is prone to do.
Axios!
Word verification: bensta