I sketch the delights of a future that sprouts
(Translation of an Occitan sonnet written in French, available here or here)
18 March 2016
Listen to the wind that blows within my Heart
It calls on lilies on the birds of the plains
The cry of dead leaves that one would pick often
At the foot of love songs, beaten old stories
Time of remembrance, in shade of the awning
I buried live the memories of my sorrow
In green-grey meadows of the monastery
Where holy waters of wells opened my veins
A robin was flowing from mystical scene
In ruins of ancient Rome where lie thermal baths
A trickle emanating from magical source
Tip of North a vain star, his heart now closes
Drawing from depths of mythical momentum
I sketch the delights of a future that sprouts
Reading of the poem:
La Terre vue du ciel – Armand Amar