The villagers light the lamps
in front of their cottages
when the violinist forgets his ego
and the wind’s mighty strings
tremble under the bow of the stars

From autumn’s ripe rowan berries
and the azure grottoes of the winter night
a single note echoes through the hearts
and the reed singer tests his bright bow
on life’s dark violin

But no villager
dared to listen
to the melody of silence
Their lamps were extinguished
long before midnight

Karl H. Bolay
from I seek an Island,
translation by Martin S. Allwo