On a windy hill

I had come alone to the hill.
Winds were asleep there, space gypsies,
squatting, with heads buried under gowns.
And even sleeping they squeezed
the keys of their accordions with bony fingers.
In flowers' arms butterflies were asleep.
Grass had set its spears crosswise.

I had travelled a long time without knowing the way,
on the edge of the same marshland, the same pond.
Nobody had heard my coming.
Only the night saw and stared, unmoving.

I told the night how hard it is to travel
without knowing the way,
how shadows startle under the spruce trees
how shadows grab your shoulders front and back,
how cold the frozen earth is, how tired I was.
I know well, I said babbling like a baby, wheedling,
I know that they are all journeying there,
those butterflies resting in flowers' arms,
those gypsies, bearing chants, those flowers,
they are all going there.
But now, when nobody listens, when all are asleep,
whisper me your counsel, tell me the shortcut to that place
where feet are soaked in cool water,
where burdens are taken and weights lifted from weary
                                               shoulder
tell it just to me.

But the night only looked, saying nothing.
Then I stretched my feet, cracked from so much travelling
I showed the bruises from trees on my shoulders.
But the night only looked without answering
only looked, although I was sobbing.

And although I had tried to speak softly, in a low voice,
hardly moving my lips,
one of the winds rose, tapping its brothers on the shoulders,
awakened the winds from sleep,
and as they moved, accordions broke out wailing,
drove the gypsies wildly up and down the hills,
the accordions bellowed even more terrible sounds.
The aspen woke from its dream, cold with shivers, rattling,
the flowers shook butterflies away from their bosoms,
the grass shot blindly to the air.

And there rose hands, feet, sighing, the air was thick with
foot soles, palms, shoulders, wailing,
and they all cried out my question, they all inquired after
                                               the shortcut,
they all hammered heaven's forehead,
and my voice could no longer be heard above the others.