THE CALLING

O taumelbunte Welt,
Wie machst du satt,
Wie machst du satt und müd,
Wie machst du drunken!
(Hermann Hesse)


The others headed for the market
or enjoyed themselves
with the taste of public debating.
I didn’t, for my sole pleasure
was to hang around these solitary paths,
mixing the dark pebbles to the rattling
of my old rags, listening to the leaves
whispering the will-o’-the-wisp
of my useless music.

At times I boast about having flirted
more than anybody else the flowers in this garden.
Nobody could have picked up as alert
the scent of these fruits.
No other lips drank with sharpest thirst
the chatter of those birds.
None was able to follow as closely the day
as a child with whom you go hand in hand
and try hard not to lose of sight.

Now that the afternoon declines and colours
slowly retire, now that exhaustion,
more than the darkness, numbs my pace,
I can hear from the distance the call from home.
I am a loner, but there is no fear, and I would refrain only
if I had not finished my workings.
However, laden with all I found on my journey,
I take my leave, and the garden still blossoms.
Night has fallen, but where I go the day also follows.