"my grandfather’s image

They will come to know my pen,

My stories,

And the warmth of my verse.

They will carry my banner,

My pages,

And the pulse of my song.

They will sow green ears of wheat

And jasmine—

They are my children.

They will tell the world

That the heart

Grows nothing but love,

That it does not bloom without leaves,

That the body is but a morsel,

And the heart is the true creation.

I am still tender,

Still searching for my path

In the midst of darkness.

I still hide my grandfather’s image

In the house of wisdom.

I am still tuning my melody

In the depth of night.

And I tell my companions

That the light of dawn

Has drawn close to me,

That the voice of glory surprises me

And whispers to my ears.

And there—where I played my first song—

Will be the beginning

Of my becoming.