This room is an echo –
echo of all my dreams. The actor
waiting for a role. The preacher listening
to silent voices, expecting
tongues of flame. The fields
Are tumbling
down towards the road. Alone,
that’s not like loneliness, a brightness
flows from distant murmuring.
Approaching friends, or strangers even.
The valley is alive, the room
is echoing
with hope. Pain falls
a victim to its own dis-ease. The room
is light; the light reveals
my will to see. It enters me.
I dwell
in brightened shadows,
ignoring shadowed light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is so evocative of visual and aural images. I enjoy the balanced opposites (oxymorons?) with which you paint a picture of a room as a space in which all possibilities are held in embryo, and the vertigo in the first and second stanzas.