08/05/2024
1400 Years.
A hundred years from today,
Who are you, sitting there reading my poem
With curious eyes,
A hundred years from today?
I will not be able to send to you
Even a tiny fragment
Of today's joy from the new morning of spring,
Not a single flower from today, no bird's song,
Not a hint of today's crimson glow—
I will not be able to convey them to you
In all their affection,
A hundred years from today!
Yet, you open the south-facing door once
And sit by the window,
Gaze into the distant horizon and immerse in imagination,
Think in your mind—
A hundred years ago,
What restless wave of excitement from which heaven
Was spreading through the world—
The young days of the Falgun month, free from all constraints,
Wild, impatient—
Spreading its restless wings, scented with flower pollen,
The southern breeze—
Suddenly, in a rush, dyed the earth
In the passion of youth,
A hundred years before you!
That day, with a restless heart, immersed in song,
A poet awoke,—
How many words, blooming like flowers,
Desired to emerge
In countless affections,
One day, a hundred years ago!
A hundred years from today,
Who is singing that new song
In your home?
I send you a greeting
From today's spring,
Through his song!
May my song of spring resonate
For a moment in your springtime,
In the beat of your heart, in the hum of the bees,
In the rustling of the leaves,
A hundred years from today.
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