With solitude, my oldest friend,
I roamed alone in silent woods,
and studied every trembling leaf.
I challenged undisputed belief,
to delve the irony of gods
beyond the cryptic universe.
In solitude I could rehearse
realities which time resolves,
the ebb and flow of ecstasy.
And echoed songs of destiny,
beneath decaying fallen trees,
would teach the brevity of life.
But death is no assassin's knife;
and silent woods I'll not exclude.
My oldest friend is solitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I fear, dear Barry, I will not resist the temptation to translate this one too.I wonder how it would sound in hellenic.
Why resist? I always appreciate your efforts and the mere fact that you want to translate it is gratifying. Thanks in advance!