A Humble And Quiet Traveller Poem by Walter W. Safar

This traveller is of a quiet and mild nature,
Solitary tacit, inaudible and quiet,
As if in mourning,
One shadow follows another -
Can love die? Can the cold sweat of restlessness
Extinguish the flame for good?

You were the light in the dark,
The brightest star in the heavenly dome,
Which I gazed at in lonely nights
Like a castaway on the ocean of lost dreams.
I was a dreamer on the path of dreams,
And now I am but a quiet inaudible traveller, dreamless and aimless -
Can our love die? Can the cold sweat of restlessness
Extinguish the flame for good?
Still, darling, we might meet again someday
Next to our old oak
And gaze at the pine tree
We planted together as a symbol of eternal love -
Oblivion is the memories' undertaker.
How can I forget
The song of the golden bird
You set free from its cage -
Stay free, don't trust people because they are ruled by jealousy and greed.
Oh, men are sunflowers! Tired from bending,
Looking for harmony in the sun's rays.
Can you find light
If you travel the dark for all your life?
If you eat the fruit of the poison tree,
Can love give birth to jealousy and greed?

There is no poison tree, rock or soil, my one and only,
Just people poisoned by egotism and greed,
Just sinners who stray the night's darkness
Followed by the sound of tempting storms,
Because life is an arena, and people are gladiators -
Let love be your shield.

Love has the face of an angel,
While solitude has a human face.
When you see solitude mourning,
Know that you've seen the same man
With whom you gazed at the young pine
Spreading its dear green branches in an embrace
With childish enthusiasm.

I'm not looking for mercy, my dear,
Because love doesn't wear an iron dress.
Love is a fire that bends the hardest of irons,
Sealed with the flame of faith from now to eternity.

I know you're a busy bee, my dear -
Merely a quiet and invisible traveller to the cold system -
Those who understand the language of winds
Know that you are a dear and worthy bee
Without whom the scent of flowers would fade -
Without whom love would be eternally mourning -
This wind is a humble and mild traveller,
Following your footsteps,
As is my love.