after the phoenix’s last death
came its first life;
flapping its wings of blazing feathers
through impossible skies –
for ashes and stone do not believe
in the afterlife of fire.
through many deaths and many births
is love perfected;
as from our waking sleep
we awaken to a dream of day:
living is dying to death
in the rebirth of what has ended.
1 comment:
Your translations are beautiful, but your own poetry is a true delight to read. Thank you for sharing this beauty with the world.
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