from broken times, collected:
Nosegay of dry, lifeless life to bury
like corpses in tombs, slowly, decaying:
proof of impermanence—
cannot fight the present.
Should I treasure an illusion in delusion?
Should I cherish the dearest one
and spend this life, ill,
in its melancholic sweetness,
dreaming of a dream?
You, there—the brightest amongst them!
Do you care enough to be remembered?
You, my beloved, the one who so softly whispers
in my lonely nights, bewitchingly,
while two shadows of extended silhouettes
are dancing a nocturnal balletto
ceaselessly in my restless mind:
Are you, too, dreaming
of an eternity of remembrance?
For when we two tenderly entwined,
dancing deliriously before my dreamy eyes,
everything else fades away in non-existence,
and all my memories become
the memory of you—
The memory of you...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem