Reading the Poem to Anemones

 

There, on the sun-drenched edge of the field,

the anemones of youth are resting.

The message of the new beginning has been heard.

The eyes of the heart have seen the sound

and have exulted in the rays of the sky’s light

which danced in waves of fire

and the universes ecstatically

looked on the future.

The little anemones swayed

to the breath of the wind,

carefree, because their sound did not enter

the creations of discourse,

and the prisons of words

teeming with a wealth of dead meanings

were alien to them, because

they chose to live in the light of the future

and the acquisitions of darkness

were a matter of indifference for them.

                    *******

But again, I did not want the anemones to be lost

without that touch of the soul

which joyfully passes through everything

and makes all things sensed

in the hearts which truly wished

to know the miracle of existence.

Let the poem be heard

in the places of the meadow

and let the frontiers be broken down

of that misguided infirmity

of the blinded,

which was closed within its walls

and banished the world.

                    *******

I hold the pages and they flutter

beneath the trees’ branches

and the anemones below me dream

of their this year’s journey

on the burning roads of the sun.

And the words come out in whisperings,

as if they are now ashamed that they have a soul,

and distances die.

Because they have forgotten the meanings

from the country of the soul

and the glory seems to them unendurable

that the inner meaning,

the support of the beings,

should live again in that void.

                    *******

But the anemones have caught

the sounds of love,

those sparks of glory

which fill the space with grace

and bind in a thread of light

the waves of life, fleeing

from the possession of feeling.

The meanings danced immaterial

with the wings of Being,

frolics of immortality

so simple that they do not have a name worthy enough

of the Babel of men

in the wilderness of names.

                    *******

Flashes of love beneath the sun,

caresses of a cooling air

assuage the fever of alienation

amid the volleys of sudden beauty

of the souls which have united

against the phantom of the world.

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