I know the turbulent tales
Of the azure.
The stars are scintillating
In a flame that seethes
And she is not with me.
The cold stars shiver in the distance
And I tremble in my skin
Like tigers upon snares.
The immense night
Wallows. A harrowing demise,
And I can picture the impalpable moon
Like one of her deep-setting eyes
That breathe in a melancholic solace:
A lurid bequeathing of the clocks.
A constellation pierces
The violent night - a brusque illumination
And I can envisage her in one of the stars: lost.
I search for her, and I know it hurts
Because in her furlough, I am fragmented -
Shattered like a chagrined glass in a stationary revelry.
The expanse is as frank as the light
Of dawn. The dew drops on the grass
In a manner of love-making.
I know the troubled allegory
Of the azure and the trellises,
And I recount all of them until her
Visions usher in front of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem