Tonight the snows came again.
There was a silence. Muted, hung.
As if the moment was waiting
for a crack in the clouds
to bring in sound.
And it came.
First I thought it was
the percussion of rain
on a tin pail outside.
I opened the door.
Dark, wet night, carpeted
with whiteness.
And then, above,
in the hills above
a voice singing.
Shouting songs
Shouting gypsy calls
Black melodies
Macho. Deep and strong.
Thrown out like anger
Unused or unwanted anger
Thrown out into the black mountains,
the thin air, into ravines and
over cliffs of pine
falling into my senses
For a brief moment,
A brief moment,
A gypsy chant in
the darkness
falling onto me
like snow
like snow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem