The village church chimes in the night,
Winged messengers of passing time,
Drift through the clear winter air,
To the awaiting ears of the dreamer
The sleeping ego knows not of their arrival,
The dreaming soul welcomes them,
Grateful for their company on its journey,
Each tone,
A remembrance of the love lost,
Each memory,
Floating as a star in the night,
Only the brightest visible,
The others cloaked by the radiant moon,
The beloved's face
The dreamer stirs, the eyes open,
HIs first sight, the moon, then the stars,
He counts them, their numbers being finite,
Oh, that their number would increase with succeeding nights,
Alas, it is not and cannot be so,
For he himself has fled from them,
Across the abyss of time and space,
He sees them,
As for the first time, for what they are,
And laments
His counting complete,
The eyes close,
The ego sleeps,
And the soul is freed,
To journey among the stars once more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem