THUS DO WE DRIFT...

Thus do we drift, lost souls,
from camp-fire hole to camp-fire hole,
know nothing of our next rest
and nothing of the journey's goal -
know that night and day here alternate,
heavy eve and sunrise great in song,
and that our journey still seems short
and yet too mercilessly long.

Yes, we know more: one sleepless night
we listen quiet in fear unseen
to our inner being, to a murmur
as of a subterranean stream
or of a shell's faint roar
in which the whole sea's heard,
and in our trembling we cease
to ask which way we are led.

Thus do we drift, lost souls,
from camp-fire hole to camp-fire hole,
know nothing of our next rest
and nothing of the journey's goal,
but know that our hearts are drawn
inexorably, without choice
in towards the sea of an unknown home
that murmurs deep in the seashell's voice.

      

For more information, please visit the website of David McDuff and his own pages with the translations.