sábado, 29 de octubre de 2011

Returning Home


I return to you, desolate barren, my home.

Clinging on to my helm, naked,
I cleave storm black waters.
A mantle of clouds covers the skies
Like Titans saturated with fury.
Bolts of lightning crackle over my grey ship
To break its old sails.
Waves rise from deep pits
To strike its battered
Hull.

I abandoned you, desolate barren, my home.

I glimpsed a lighthouse in the horizon, from steep cliffs,
And embarked in my grey ship, toward dusk.
The lighthouse brightened a coast of quiet waters,
Green and young, so different.
I didn’t mind losing my ship in the coral reefs,
Not too much.

I forgot you, desolate barren, my home.

I built a bamboo house over green meadows,
Among still pools and muzzled animals.
I traded the helm for the hoe,
And the wind roar for the autumn breeze.
I was happy, or it was the silence?

I come back to you, desolate barren, my home.

Naked, shivering, clinging on to my helm,
I’m coming to meet you.
You are barren and desolate, savage and raging,
You are somber and ruthless.

But yours are the indomitable beasts
And the floating stones,
The endless cliffs and the abyssal trenches.
Yours is the magic, the flight, the roaring,
The truth and my meaning.

Remains of the day - Przemek Hankowski

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