Metempsychosis Poem by Jaume Subirana
Metempsychosis
It is night I can see,
no need for car headlights.
Among the trees a hundred different greens,
pile of mute forms
I try to get my hands on:
my fingers rain on every leaf,
I snake along the crowns,
nurture the roots.
Of course there are voices, too,
and I remember a time
when I was part of this.
Now I want to write and am
only a faint soughing through the trees.
Translated by Christopher Whyte
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 8:37:50 AM # 1.0.0.1119
