On the peaks of destiny where the clouds of promises are torn apart
On the peaks of destiny where the clouds of promises are torn apart,
I offered you my heart as an atlas of fabulous worlds.
The fervor of our love, a shooting star, dazzling and then, just a pale memory,
Now I remain like a monk in the cell of contemplation, breathing life into the charcoal of the past.
Ah, how the dream that's parted from the soil agonizes me, in times past, in another world,
Where dawns are unspoken flowers and the stars, songs for the wanderers of sublime paths.
I call out to you at twilight when the evening star becomes the mistress of my dreams,
And my heavy eyelids fall like autumn leaves, a whisper of secret in the wind.
But this phantom of yearning takes flight, dissolves into the cold nothingness,
An alphabet of dreams that scatter on the wings of the twilight.
And my soul, famished for your echoes, accentuates the silence with your name,
Descending into the cavity of every longing, gearing up for a new fast.
From my knees, fallen in dust at twilight altars, no saint has answered,
Each prayer, a cry that vanishes into the celestial tear of the night.
They look away when I search in vain for the understanding of my sin,
That simple, inevitable sin: to have loved you, ah, too much.
Seeking comfort, a ray, a divine temptation, a simple burden that never ends,
But years flow, running like water in a stream, melting on the sky of my mornings like candles in the night.
Stranger in my own ode, I wander in memories, where I was in a fairy tale, an unshaken king,
Where tomorrow, I will wander among shadows, chaotically and endlessly searching.
On the foreign road of living being, solitude will be the most faithful brother,
In the finished return to oneself, I await a word from you, a sign, a leap from the great perhaps.
In this desolation that will envelop me, where the ships of my thoughts will break,
I wait, to slide into sleep on the sound of a whisper, soothing a fate that dims within me at night.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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