I smile, deceiving time, but my bewitching heart weeps

I smile, deceiving time, but my bewitching heart weeps, In the evenings when loneliness spreads its canvas with sparse stars. To love you – means I wish you fields of poppies under the illuminated moon, Means that your kindness blossoms in my speechless garden. I love you – and this translates to my breeze no longer caressing your foundation, Words have become white butterflies, meetings – willowy trees by the river, No more food is needed for my melancholy, Nor fuel for the giant clock of restlessness. And on the path, where our steps were meant to drip the dawn of silk, Now, spills only a froth of darkness and a murmur of pearls. From the banks, old age, like a lighthouse in the fog, sends its silent signals, And it’s time to walk towards oblivion, with peonies on shoulders, with stars caught in hair. My love – means I want to filter out every mist, to only distill grace upon you. How to pluck the memory, a vase adorned with night crystals in the soul? How to leave in the cold your blue giving, bruised by wind, smeared by the storm? How not to bear your burden in hands, a sacred altar of this earthly pilgrimage? But whispers are lost in the echo of the wilderness – who will answer, my comfort? Who will speak of what is possibility, what is a dream, in this realm-kingdom? No one will sing in chorus for us, no one will illuminate the city of addresses, Nobody will unravel the enigma – who will say love isn’t a struggle in the unseen? We are lost in the story, where love does not wear a light cloak, Nowhere is it written how to give up on love, how to remove entwined stars from the heart, Nowhere is there a map, nor compass that shows the path to the simple, And the knots of the heart, in this tangled labyrinth, not even a Merlin can undo, Who has uttered, in the whisper of the century, that to love is like to fly without wings to beseech?