In my youth, I was a prisoner of pain

In my youth, I was a prisoner of pain, A soul lost in the fog of melancholy, without comfort. Gloomy horizons had been my home under a cold and white moon, I sailed alone, among rocks of despair and waves of silence. From where have you appeared, oh distant dream, my diaphanous specter, Coming from a land where evenings bloom like a pure thought? What unfulfilled yearning brought you to foreign shores, Like a falling star through the mist of endless nights? You left behind shores where trade winds Play through the fronds of palm trees under the scorching sun. Were the celestial waters, the tears of the sea, too weak, Broken in powerlessness, they did not stop the migratory longing? Did you know, I wonder, that here, in the wastelands of my soul do not grow Silk flowers, love songs, nor hidden gardens? Here, love has traded its echo for a mere gram of oblivion, As the beautiful canvas of passing dreams slowly unravels... But you, with fingers of snow and moons carved in relief, With eyes that reflected the gentle abyss of a frozen ocean at peace, You appeared, fairy, unfolding breaths of azure around, Banishing the flood of phantoms, planting a silent paradise in me. Come, take my hand, be my guide to the celestial realm, Where palm trees watch over the endless seas of gold and sand. In their open arms, let my cage rest, To rebirth paradise from the ashes of our forever unfulfilled dreams.