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Wind at Tindari

 Tindari, I know you
mild between broad hills, overhanging the waters
of the god’s sweet islands.
Today, you confront me and break into my heart.
I climb airy peaks, precipices, following the wind in the pines, and the crowd of them, lightly accompanying me, fly off into the air, wave of love and sound, and you take me to you, you from whom I wrongly drew evil, and fear of silence, shadow, - refuge of sweetness, once certain - and death of spirit.
It is unknown to you, that country where each day I go down deep to nourish secret syllables.
A different light strips you, behind the windows clothed in night, and another joy than mine lies against you.
Exile is harsh and the search, for harmony, that ended in you changes today to a precocious anxiousness for death, and every love is a shield against sadness, a silent stair in the gloom, where you station me to break my bitter bread.
Return, serene Tindari, stir me, sweet friend, to raise myself to the sky from the rock, so that I might shape fear, for those who do not know what deep wind has searched me.

by Salvatore Quasimodo
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