How funny you can never find quietness here,
Even at night when the star-lit sky tosses down darker shadows,
and cradling some to sleep while startles others.
Sometimes a car passes by, you hear the screeching sound
from the highway;
An owl begins its solitary ode.
The insolent sea, like a playful boy, fumbles the jagged coast
with his white fingers, and runs away, giggling,
and returns with some gifts hidden under his leaden cloak.
And the wind is in the woods.
The steamer glides like a giant sea gull into the deep blue,
leaving for another destination on the other end of the earth.
I always try to imagine a life of a seaman,
freedom on the deck, clubbing at every port,
and at night, the discordant languages of the constellations
whisper them to sleep.
I’m not a seaman for sure,
But my life is like the sea, carrying me forward to places
I don’t know, to people I can’t understand.
My whole life, intransigently maintains the dignity of to-be
like a sun-warmed pebble on the shore,
will soon be cooled by the coming tide and the night.
There is nowhere better to go than the bottom ends of the sea,
dark places, free from the grating sound of the world.
Yet, I’m like a pebble on the beach waiting, waiting …
The shadow of an albatross sails past me,
The shadow guided by an invisible hand.
And the wind is in the woods, shaking down an autumn of dancing red;
The blue sky hangs low;
The greenery of the quiet sea is all embracing.
I hear the grey voices of mankind calling me home …