Poem by Linda Imbler / Translated by Isaac COHEN

Poem by Linda Imbler

 
Within The Din
 
His soul heard no welcome, only murmurs.
It seemed he heard sweet singing.
The hope that he was right stayed his sorrow.
 
His bedimmed dreams came as angels.
As death became his friend.
He saw his own grace.
And all of sweet peace wailed for him.
And within the din, welcome finally
showed its hand.
 
© Imbler, 2020
מתוך ההמולה – לִינְדָה אִימְבְּלֶר
תרגום מאנגלית לעברית: יצחק כהן
 
נַפְשׁוֹ לֹא שָׁמְעָה בְּרָכָה לְבוֹאוֹ, רַק רְחָשִׁים.
נִרְאָה לוֹ שֶׁהוּא שׁוֹמֵעַ שִׁירָה מְתוּקָה.
הַתִּקְוָה שֶׁהוּא צָדַק עָזְרָה לו לָשֵׂאת אֶת יְגוֹנוֹ.
 
חֲלוֹמוֹתָיו הָעֲמוּמִים הִגִּיעוּ כְּמוֹ מַלְאָכִים.
כְּמוֹ שֶׁהַמָּוֶת הָפַךְ לַחֲבֵרוֹ.
הוּא רָאָה אֶת הַחֶסֶד בּוֹ זָכָה.
וְכָל הַשַּׁלְוָה הַמְּתוּקָה בּוֹכָה (מְקוֹנֶנֶת) עָלָיו.
וּמִן הַהֲמֻלָּה בִּרְכַּת שָׁלוֹם סוֹף סוֹף
קִדְּמָה פָּנָיו.
 

Translated by Isaac COHEN

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