Throwing Your Grief as a Rock into the Waters In your forties, Wingless, You urge the meaning to fly once again, As though you are powerful enough, once more, to step over the clouds. Heading towards your own wilderness The winds put all the sins of the tale upon your shoulders. Since you stopped at the gates of your past With chained legs, Neither your years returned to the song; Nor did the gorgeous girls come back from the trees of childhood jocundly To your fields. In your forties, There, near the springs Longing takes you towards the deers, That no more listen to your songs When you feel their approaching steps And when the bird of words chirps On a lonely branch in the heart. You throw your grief like a rock into the sea And see your face burning In the furnace of the lost painful moment. In your forties, When you are fastened To the flutes on the shawl of a ballad, Find a dove forgotten in your own travelling meaning. Do not exhaust the te...