Does he speak through the silence of others
And pass through their half-formed thoughts,
A ranging spirit, behind unknowing eyes;
Is he found in raw logic and plots?
Could you find him hidden by circumstance,
Or discarded like weight on a chase,
Is he there in the hurrying footsteps;
The mute laughter, behind a straight face?
Is he now just a memory out of season,
Flown too far from it's fledging ground,
Like the pained remoteness of mountains,
Where the echo beats out its last sound?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the mystic and moving essence this poem presents; wonderful in its depth.