For many people you are but a storm
sending wee grains in a gyre
across the sea
far – out – traveling.

Where bright sand serves as mirror to the seas
since it curves gently along the dunes‘ crease
you commence, still-tongue-tied wind,
awakening softly, to lift the golden waters
that, dancing with the wind,
allow the lunar brilliance up there to shine through.

And thus you begin, in sparkling swing
passing the blue soft ocean
on life-breath’s hands.

At Sahara’s coasts
you set about your journey
indeed in the dune’s heart
you dream of the endless vast.

While I, at the shores of my little dunya,
this tiny island alone on a mysterious swell,
sense your silent coming in the wind,
others flee frantically to where they dwell,

as if the sand’s storm
took their true vision,
as if it weren’t in your heart
where you see truthfully.

By myself I delight in, you daughter of my longing,
how you waft to us from over there, seeking to remind us:
remind us that behind the horizon, in the dune’s heart,
in any palm tree’s aorta and behind the wind’s whispered appeal
is an emerging messenger.

la voz que nos acuerda…

Mario-Francisco Zold
Translation from German by Raphael Wohlfahrt

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