In the walk
There are so many
Things
Phenomena
Scents and motions
Surprises and wide
Open eyes:
In the walk.
But
Not these I look for.
But
For the thoughts
That come to me
Come
In those deep and
Profound of silences.
Even a leaf falling
Turns me round.
My steps go slow
As thoughts
Slow them as it gets
Deeper.
In those times too
The night is not
Of dark completely
As I walk
Between the aisles of
Trees
There be a certain twilight
Glimmering
Trembling in the dimness
Of the moon-light.
Before me
Stretch the passages
And layers
Of thought on thought
Synthesis and drops
Of experience on experience
Before me
And
The night goes
And
Winter be not of necessity
But
The calm sequestered solitude
That after all is where
Man speaks to Man
In ages all
And in all destinies
And centuries.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem ends with the inevitably melancholy realization of our essential solitude on so mnay levels of existence. So much of our activity is spent on eliminating or reducing or ignoring that fact but eventually the experience of aloneness looms over us all. Even then we deny it with various inventions of our nimble minds. In fact, your poem shows that amazing ability of the mind to turn what is empty into a cornucopia, to take a dead end and reanimate it, to populate a world without companionship with amiable thoughts. Your poem, my comment on it - we conquer the eternal loneliness again and again.