Comment pouvons nous espérer,
    pauvres brindilles,
    malmenées  dans les champs fleuris,
    etres a part, fous de trop d'amour
    qui au moindre souffle, s'envolons...
    Comment pouvons nous espérer
    etre vus par les autres et reconnus?
    Inacessibles, pour eux
    nous ne sommes pas
    et face a leur indifférence,
    invisibles et muets
    nous mourrons.

   Elisabeth Lions


How may we hope, poor twigs,
trampled in flowering fields,
separate beings, crazed by surfeit of love,
flying away at air's lightest breath...
How may we hope to live,
be seen by others and recognized?
Unreachable, for them
we do not exist,
and facing their indifference
invisible and mute
we perish.

Translation by Izabel Sonia Ganz

Peinture par Elisabeth Lions, Provence

Yet if I speak
and from the other side of
malevolent wall
pulsing and brimming with its own sick life
fed by our fears, our failures, our perversions,
I hear an echo of my own distress
a cry of pain that resonates my voice -

shall I discard the faint glimmer of hope
stomp out the spark
that barely glows alive

or fan it
through its fitful birth?

Shall I let it bloom
with petals flaming high
into a fire that crosses all walls
leaps over fences of incomprehension
letting them melt
and wither
and dissolve?

Izabel Sonia Ganz

All poems on this page
previously published in Poetry Repair Shop

The Crone's Poetry Pages