It used to be a rumor.
Something spoken of in whispers.
A fairy tale, or fanciful dreaming,
Of something that once was, but never to be.
A song in the distance,
Sung beautifully by extinct voices.
And the thought that what if….
Just because I hear it,
Doesn’t mean it’s so.
And I’d holler at the mountains,
To surrender the source.
Yet my muse remained
And tides passed,
The call never hindered, but grew.
Screaming now at these mountains.
The precipices of my anguish,
That hid my light!
“Give her up, you cliffs and peaks”!
“I need you”!
“I’ve longed every moment that I couldn’t hear you”!
“Hold me again, with your song”.
Crumpled and Weary, I relent.
Than a voice…”Love”
“I have always been, ”
“Did you not hear my song”?
I replied “hear”? “No”,
“I’ve felt it and breathed it”.
“Knelt before it and drowned in it”,
“Made it my crusade to live for it.”
“My greatest Love, ”
“I’ve heard with my soul.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem