Mute Night, Mute Mother

OH MUTE NIGHT, OH MUTE MOTHER! Driven by the darkness above all that is dark; driven by human vanity, and by resounding envy, I once again return to the glory of the poetry eternal. I branch my verses into the sky; I return to the earth with my verses I am blessing my verses in tears. Haunted by the scream of my own solitude, I am calling out to the mute night to hear its poet’s confession; to hear the crystal tear banging against the dry crust of Life. I am calling out to the mute night: “Be my mother, oh night, so mute!” Sing loudly and proudly, like you did that day when I first called you mother; Sing and bestow your kisses on me, moist and silent, warm and dreamy. Take me into your tender and yearning embrace, just like you hug the southern wind. Now I sense your restlessness, oh mute night, oh mute mother. In the maelstrom of my dreams you are looking for a place to rest. Do not worry, oh mute night, oh mute mother! Your son shall sing instead of You! I, the poet, the vagabond, the minstrel of Liberty, I am calling You my mother, because I could never gather the courage to address my own mother like that. Inside me, there might be something of Yours, oh mute night, oh mute mother! There is a sad and endless loneliness, there is a timid and trembling longing. Inside me, there is something of You, oh mute night, oh mute mother. Walter William Safar