MYSTERY: COME...

Come, listen, I call on you,
Strange lover of my strange muse,
Come, you who jumbles the deep enigmas
In the shivering of the warm pupils.
Who hollows out the amethyst riverbed

Of lived circles under her eyes …

Come, listen, I call on you,

Strange lover of my strange muse!

Come, you, the one who imprints a solemn rhythm
Upon the trembling of the glacial tomb;
The one who sets the dismal tone
Of the deep utterance of tragic shadows.
Come, you, weary poet, who plucks
The lyre of silence: the strangest one!
The one of the long mute vibrations,
Who harmonizes with the sound of the soul!

Come, listen, I call on you,

Strange lover of my strange muse!

    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Come, come closer to me, that in my pupils
Yours may sink in tenacious sight,
That there may glimmer in them the sublime enigma

Of the hereafter, which frightens …

Come …come closer to me …pierce in my lips

Your cold lips of amber,

May I try in them the unknown taste
Of the enervating essence of your soul!…

    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Come, listen, I call on you,

Strange lover of my strange muse!