Grumbled again the tired wave of travel
in the charm of being in love with the
shore of silence. The reminiscences of
slavery were the bitter mysteries of its
seclusion. Finally in freedom it intended
not to like except the sad melodies. It
addressed the thirsty soil with its clamour:
“O! soil, my melodies for you became
the collisions of hope, my drops for you
the witnesses of life, I only demand you
to think alike, you became the quiet share
for my zenith.”
The noble share answered in this way:
“O! wave, pride of my stature, spectator
of my captivity, firmness of my body,
your breast is my sky, honour of the
sea-mother, hero of waters! The years
this silence nestled in my heart. The
oppression of the brand of the sunshine,
acquaintance of my wound, the sky is not
any more a sympathetic friend for me,
the story of the stars is not in my mouth,
the captivity of earth became my bitter
narrative.”
More at http://www.javanbakht.net.