The Wind Gave Birth to Me
The wind gave birth to me,
the mountain nursed me,
the moon was my cradle,
old trees rocked me to sleep,
my mother was a dream.
The gray cloth that flutters before my eyes –
is it a cloud or a shawl, my mother's shawl
on her bowed shoulders
in silent, crooked streets?
The wind gave birth to me,
the mountain nursed me,
my mother was a dream.
Translated by Barnett Zumoff
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