When knowledge
Still nestled by springs,
Man
Indulged himself in his azure philosophy
In the delicate indolence of a meadow.
His thoughts flew with the bird.
He breathed with trees.
He was submissive to the poppy's conditions.
Intrepid meanings of the waters
Roared in the depths of his speech.
Man
Slept
In the text of the elements
And woke up
In dawning fear.

But sometimes
The strange music of growth
Echoed
In the frail joints of his joys
And dust settled
On his struggling knees.
Then
His creative fingers,
Idled and got lost
In precise geometrical grief.

(Translated by Ismail Salami)