THE WHITENESS OF MY HAIRMy hair has turned white,Taking the color of the wavesFrom the long voyageOn the deep sea of life.They crashedUpon the shores of the soul, of thought,And took the color of truth.These I take from the seaAnd cast onto the pages of paper,My face, look for it deep within the work.MY ROZAFAI brought my children, they are no longer little,With open wings they fly through the civilized world,I want them to land from their long exhaustion, hungry,To drink at your white, uncovered breast.The part deep down that is walled inAmong the stones, the wall that cannot be seen,The arm, the heart works without restingTo push the milk into the breast that is outside.Thousands of visitors come through the centuriesPress their lips and drink at this breast,There let my thirsty children drink tooThe milk of legend, of history...Then, let them fly and tell the universe!FOR A SILENT SHOTI placed youIn the crosshairs of my feeling,I tracked youThrough meadows at dusk and dawn.I was afraidLest I kill you with the shot of love,The noise frightened me more,That I might lose you forever.A lifetimeIn the endless crosshairs,I am killedYou are eternally wounded...For a walled-in firing of feeling.LOVEAll my lifeI drank from your glass filled to the brim,I drank your feelingsBut I could not empty your soul.You laugh beside meBeautiful and happy:“The depth of my seaIs never dried up by kissing”!...I HAVE RETURNED, MOTHER, I HAVE RETURNEDI have returned, mother, from exile, I have returned,From the road of loss, of long forgetting,I bought this wealth with sweat, mother,Sleeplessness and exhaustion I paid as interest.I have returned, mother, to your warm embraceTwo more wrinkles have been added to my face,But mother trembles and feels cold,From her son’s black, unshaven beardWhen he left he was a gilded meadow,He gave away his spring green to grow rich!
PILO ZYBA
