PROFOUND POEMS: “Passerby, These are Words” by Yves Bonnefoy

leaves-554140_1280

Passerby, These are Words

Passerby, these are words. But instead of reading
I want you to listen: to this frail
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass.

Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee
Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.
It flits between two sprays of leaves,
Carrying the sound of branches that are real
To those that filigree the unseen gold.

Then know an even fainter sound, and let it be
The endless murmuring of all our shades.
Their whisper rises from beneath the stones
To fuse into a single heat with that blind
Light you are as yet, who can still gaze.

Listen simply, if you will. Silence is a threshold
Where, unfelt, a twig breaks in your hand
As you try to disengage
A name upon a stone:

And so our absent names untangle your alarms.
And for you who move away, pensively,
Here becomes there without ceasing to be.

Yves Bonnefoy – 1923-2016

5 Comments Add yours

  1. Passerby and that is what we are in this world of illusion. This is so beautifully said, Amira. Every stanza is true to itself, awesome picture too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you dear Kamal! I am so glad to hear you enjoyed it! 🙏 ❤

      Like

      1. Welcome dear Amira ♥️♥️♥️♥️

        Liked by 1 person

    1. I am glad to hear you enjoyed it Linda! 🙂 ❤

      Like

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