Jag är ett träd med djupa, djupa rötter. Om så stormen viner, regnet piskar eller solen torkar så står jag fast. Jag är ett träd med djupa, djupa rötter.
Jag älskar träd. Mer än jag förstått tidigare. Ibland är någonting så självklart att man inte ens ser det.
Ikväll har jag haft det supertrevligt bland gamla vänner och nya bekantskaper. Men allra skönast är det ändå att komma hem till sin egna lilla vrå med mina viskande träd utanför.
Nu är det dags att byta surret från många pratande människor till suset från de närmsta träden hemma hos mig.
Dit stigen leder 
the acacia
Atahualpa Yupanqui
(Milonga)
There is an acacia born
in the crack of a stone.
It seems that he broke it
to leave inside of it.
It is at a high peeling,
he does not have a weed nearby,
Seeing it alone and flowery
the whole mountain envies him.
They look at it from a distance
trees and bindweed,
saying with rancor:
Pa one alone, how much land.
In gold it offers to the sun,
pay the light that he lends.
And as it has more,
everything on the ground sows.
Health, money and joy,
everything to the acacia, to spare,
as others see
from the place that they observe it.
But you have to give and notice
how the stone squeezes it.
Notice that it is a martyrdom,
the life that they envy him.
In that crack, the tree
was born by his bad star.
And instead of dying sad
he makes flowers of his sorrows…
As he has no qualms,
all the winds hit him.
Frost punishes him
the water passes and it does not stay.
So live the acacia,
without anyone knowing.
With your little bit of pride
because it’s fair that I have it.
But with soul so cute
he does not complain.
That having no joys
he makes flowers of his sorrows.
That should envy them,
the others, if they knew!
That having no joys
he makes flowers of his sorrows.
But with soul so cute
he does not complain.
That having no joys
he makes flowers of his sorrows.
That should envy them,
the others, if they knew!
GillaGilla
Another great poem! And that too brought tears to my eyes. Thank you.
GillaGillad av 1 person