It is true, our tribe is similar to the bees,
It gathers honey of wisdom, carries it, stores it in honeycombs.
I am able to roam for hours
Through the labyrinth of the main library, floor to floor.
But yesterday, looking for the words of masters and prophets,
I wandered into high regions
That are visited by practically no one.
I would open a book and could decipher nothing.
For letters faded and disappeared from the pages.
Woe! I exclaimed-so it comes to this?
Where are you, venerable ones, with your beards and wigs,
Your nights spent by a candle, griefs of your wives?
So a message saving the world is silenced forever?
At your home it was the day of making preserves.
And your dog, sleeping by the fire, would wake up,
Yawn, and look at you, as if knowing.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Woe! by Czeslaw Milosz )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- The Resting Mind!, Varanasi Ramabrahmam
- Morning Mist and Clouds, Ananta Madhavan
- All Equal, A.j. Binash
- Letting Go, Electric Lady
- नोँसोर फैफिनबाव, Bahadur Basumatary
- Love Letters on Leaves, Nalini Chaturvedi
- Halved, Raihana Abdul Jabbar
- Gathering Rosebuds, Doyen Lingua
- My Stallion, Raihana Abdul Jabbar
- Hooker Nadine Gordimer, Richard Thripp