Little son is sleeping Poem by Bernard Dewulf

It is an afternoon in an ordinary week,
a century is ending outside.
In the ether of the first house
Your sleep is murmuring in an electric ear.

Windows are standing wide open towards a summer
and the babble of again something new
is about to penetrate even our quiet rooms.
The future may come now.

Here we will live together till later.
Until I fit in you, a father in a father.
Until this house will move you out.
Until it will be as if I had never been there.

Here am I, after the noon of my day.
I know, it is dreaming in your head now,
but listen. Something timeless is singing
in our rooms. Go on, go on breathing with me.



English version by Sapphire/Ramona Lofton