Anxiety Poem by Reva Kern

Silence!Let's resume the work of my age.
Let the docile brush obey my fingers,
Of the places that I have left that traces the image,
Let my harp mingle with the accents of my voice;
On a shiny fabric, let the light needle
Stop the contours of a brief flower.

Oh, why, disdaining these easy joys,
My soul murmurs fly away elsewhere?
Such a roaring torrent when its foaming wave
In a bed too narrow, agitated and tormented;
On black rocks, dies a helpless effort.
And I break thus against the cessation of the sort!
Before me, on the bank, it closes the barrier
And my soul is captive in its narrow sphere;
Retreating in the fight against her and destiny,
Under the hand that crushes her, she gnaws at the restraint.

Silence! Let's resume the work of my age.
Let the docile brush obey my fingers,
Of the places that I have left that traces the image,
Let my harp mingle with the accents of my voice;
On a shiny fabric, let the needle
Stop the contours of a brief flower.

What does life require?Does she have a single treasure,
For who would weigh it like one weighs gold?
Under the cold analysis and under the hand that probes,
Awakening the fragrance of the happiness of this world.
The night spreads its mourning when the sun has it,
And the soul that knows it, feeling immortal,
Would not want these things which lasted like her.
She searches, forming twenty dreams in turn...
The world answers its response with its happiness of a day!

Silence!Let's resume the work of my age.
Let the docile brush obey my fingers,
Of the places that I have left that traces the image,
Let my harp mingle with the accents of my voice;
On a shiny fabric, let the needle
Stop the contours of a brief flower.

My soul, calm yourself, resume a softer flight,
And move under the yoke of a sort common to all.

Translated from the poem Anxiété by Sophie d'Arbouville