Violin Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
Violin
The heavy journey up
the slopes of sound:
in the effort
the self has its shape.
Only in intuitions,
careless as the smiles of children
can we find ourselves
hidden in the present.
The kingfisher catches fire,
quenches itself in darkness!
Oh, I have stood above
the mountain crevice’s
cold sound of water
have seen the morning, burning
clouds ascending into the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/20/2024 3:54:28 AM # 1.0.0.1119
