In my palm, let a spring of living ages drip

In my palm, let a spring of living ages drip, To breathe into you the ancestral land, without cross, without boundary, Lend me views, from the bends of the Danube, To where the sea stretches its whispering azure realm. Offer me your hand, a silky thread from the tapestry of infinity, Your face to plant in the secret garden of my being, And that day, illuminated by your approaching time, When the destiny of worlds beneath us will spread like a sheet of stars. Through the horizons of your eyes, to sip eternity as from the cup of salvation, In their tears to bathe, gathering in each pearl precious dreams, In your cadence to know the thrilling call of life, In your song, a symphony of arias and trills that break the night's silence. In your shadow, I rush to the secretive citadel of the soul, In your wake, my steps to find their sanctuary, To rediscover there the balance lost on the hills of tumult, And your voice to become an echo for the heart that hides stellar enigmas. Rest your forehead, next to my open hand, To feel how each breath of yours rejuvenates me deeper than dawn; Soul, awakened from unearthly dreams, a shy nymph from the tale, Your call is the sweet ballad, the word that caresses unannounced.