Heisgeir

dàn le Ciorstaidh A NicDhòmhnaill

poem by Kirsty A Macdonald

Èist!

An e òran-ròin no a’ ghaoth a bha sin?

Air neo gairm bhon chridhe don inntinn

Gus tighinn air ais, gus leigeil air falbh, gus fuireach

Gu bràth, mar an fheadhainn romhainn?

Ceud ròn a’ seinn

Chan ann airson fearann no biadh, ach airson

An dearbh thoileachais bhon a bhith a’ fosgladh an sgòrnan don ghaoith,

‘S sin a’ fosgladh d’ inntinn don mhionaid,

Agus do chridhe do rudeigin eireachdail, gun chrìoch.

Ciamar a sgrìobhas tu mun eilean?

Ciamar a chruthaicheas tu na faclan, gan cumadh

A-steach don uaine ’s gorm

Agus mac-talla an òrain-ròin

Agus gainmheach osnach?

Bròn baile bàn, cladach gun bhuain,

coimhearsnachd gun ghuth,

sgòrnan air a thoirt aiste.

Falmhaichte.

Listen!

Was that seal-song or the wind?

Or was it a calling of the heart to the mind

To come back, let go, stay

Eternally, like those before?

A hundred seals singing,

Not for territory or food, but for

The sheer joy of opening their throats to the wind,

Opening your mind to the moment,

Opening your heart to what is splendid, endless.

How do you write about the island?

How do you forge the words, shape

Them in to the greens and blues

And echo the seal-song

And sighing sands? The sadness

of an empty village,

A shore unharvested, a people

unvoiced, dethroated,

Departed.