ONCE AGAIN I wake up when the night has waned,

when the world opens all its petals once more,

and this is an endless wonder.

Vast islands have sunk in the abyss unnamed,

stars have been beggared of the last flicker of their light,

countless epochs have lost all their ladings.

World-conquerors have vanished into the shadow of a name

behind dim legends,

great nations raised their towers of triumph

as a mere offering to the unappeasable hunger of the dust.

Among this dissolving crowd of the discarded

my forehead receives the consecration of light,

and this is an endless wonder.

I stand for another day with the Himalayas,

with constellations of stars.

I am here where in the surging sea-waves

the infuriate dance of the Terrible

is rhythmed with his boisterous laughter.

The centuries on which have flashed up and foundered

kingly crowns like bubbles

have left their signature on the bark of this aged tree,

where I am allowed to sit under its ancient shade for one more day, and this is an endless wonder.