Nous voudrions maintenant vous questionner sur la Mort

Khalil Gibran

Death

Then Almitra spoke, saying,
We would ask now of Death.
And he said:
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day
cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death,
open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow, your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

*

Continuer la lecture de Nous voudrions maintenant vous questionner sur la Mort

L’offrande lyrique (III)

Rabindranath Tagore

Mais comment toi tu chantes. Maître, je l’ignore! Et j’écoute toujours dans l’éblouissement silencieux.
La lumière de ta musique illumine le monde. Le vital souffle de ta musique roule de ciel en ciel.
Le flot sacré de ta musique à travers les digues de pierre se fait jour et se précipite.
Mon cœur aspire à se joindre à ton chant, mais s’efforce en vain vers la voix. Je parlerais… Mais aucun chant ne se forme de mon langage et je me lamente confus. Ah! tu as fait mon cœur captif, Maître, dans les lacs infinis de ta musique.
(…)

Traduction : André Gide

Mémoire

Octavian Paler

Memorie

O pasăre cu o singură aripă
şi cu alta transformată în lanţ,
o pasăre cu o aripă rămasă să spere
şi alta pe care o târăşte în zbor,
o pasăre-mi trece noaptea prin somn
şi dimineaţa o găsesc răstignită
în acelaşi loc unde seara
am lăsat-o
lovindu-şi lanţul cu aripa.

Continuer la lecture de Mémoire