Sometimes the path led
to solitude and silence
to a gentle peace
that followed one home
and presided over one's sleep
Today, these many days,
the path leads one into one's own sorrows
Into one's own darkness
There is no space
There is no generosity in the garden
Its menacing branches and leaves
close in and suffocate
and whisper curses of desolation
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Darkness there may be but we must know that light is never far behind. Beautiful words as is the painting by Edouard Manet.