The Queen hidden among her people
Keeping the world from coming undone
Her ladies-in-waiting lay
Sorrows at the feet of every nation
Singing songs of quiet purgation
One distant memory
And one closer to the surface
Rubbing like two stones in the mind
His hand in front of his face
Reaching to reconnect with all that is God
A blind bard shakes off vibrations of aeons passed
Arranging resounding words
Of ancient heaven's renewal
Into a lullaby for children
His ancient cell
Angels issuing their utterances in descending falls
Immaculate music playing through the walls
The spectre of an aged king
Dips his finger in the bard's right eye
Circles ripple across his skin
He is the ink well of the king's psalms
Buried in oblivion but called back through memory
Melodies blowing through the spirit like strong gusts of wind
Sorrows lay at the feet of every nation
Singing the songs of quiet purgation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem