Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent
So deeply touching and poignant. Every fiber of this poem touches the heart because of its powerful images and poetic expressions.
I lost the path of childhood and still wandering to find out this but never it comes as before; Oh that's life the past never comes back!
A whole past lost to the Conquistadors, so tragically expressed by a truly great poet
A twig, a small remnant of a much greater thing. A remnant with its own stories, own burdens, own memories. What remnants do we leave in the trail of our living, and what will their story be to those who listen?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The roots i had left behind. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.