Christ at last was dumb
after the forsaking cry.
Who am I then to make noises
or score words on a blank page?
What have I to say at the beginning
at the beginning of the end?
All natural life today is despoiled.
It rots rubbled down
ripped from where its mooring was.
For those who died, let the remnant of steel be
the risen-up stake on which Christ died.
Let it be for them the salvation and the resurrection.
Let it be for them the filling up, the filling up of the suffering redeeming Christ,
the little drop He left for His other flesh to fill up
to fill up and redeem all the teeming human mass that this day wanders
in search of its souls' mooring.
11.9.01
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem