Ah, that voiceAh, that voice, sad, insistent,
calling me from afar.
It’s not the voice
of the almond trees blooming by my house,
nor of the swallow returning
under the roof each year.
Nor is it the voice
of the river flashing in the sun.
Earth,
O desperate earth,
no longer voicing the memory
of better years,
today you call me,
but with a different voice,
a sad voice stifled by sobs,
a voice I can understand only today ─ as a man.
Earth, you call me,
with a hoarse voice,
the voice of the angry plowman
plowing with two scrawny cows;
the voice of the shepherd, his face
lashed by rain squalls