in my solitude i take the walk back to the woods
i go deeper under the trees and it is a world of wanton schemes
i discharge every crowd that resides in my head
i welcome dead leaves falling from the trees that seem to have hands
reaching the dark skies.
i am unloading and i do not stop until i am empty.
each step draws an idea which i fish from the water.
i see what disturbance is. I feel the chaos that wants to escape from
the barks of the trees, from the scales of each fish.
the solitude too struggles like a mouse caught in a trap.
it has learned the trick of calmness, of being steady, of
being still, in its own chosen silence.
the walk has finally taken me like a trap, and i cannot stop anymore.
there, ideas are born. flowers grow. animals talk,
there, dusts have grown the white wings of the doves,
there, man escapes from a hole, stands tall, and finally walks away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem