the camouflaged old mountains
like heavy hands, they are kept in shock
the twilight in the fire, in the evaporating farm
valley round silence, fluffy moss
and as if the heart is forever and ever
would stand and something else
perhaps the landscape would throb
as if winter night, winter sky, winter ore
would have a bell, not by the passing
so the tongue of the earth, the forged earth
that swinging heavy
and the heart is the voice
it shines like the thought itself
in the winter night
the silence of silver darkness
he locks the moon on the world
in me, the past falls like a stone
in space by silent
silent blue time flies by
the edge of the sword sparkles my hair
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is power in this poem's sword, if one can see past the long and the longing in Winter's night. -QtR