throughout
The
night
the
bastions
sang
hummed
as
the
wild
wind
sings
hums
they
be
together
your
hear
the
wind
you
hear
the
doors
and
windows
rattling
rattling
rattling
and
from
the
crevices
the
sacred
wind
is whispering…
is whispering…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem begins with sounds most people consider noise, and that is a reductive term for what they discount. It's simply noise pollution to them., and they will lean back in their chairs hoping some passing tenor will sing a sweet. aria for them. But you persist in listening in the moment, having faith in the moment others dismiss as meaningless. Various noises sound forth, you are patient, and then THE SACRED WIND ARISES AND BRINGS TO YOU WHISPERS SWEETER THAN ANY TENOR VOICE.