Between the majestic and the blasé no footprints remain The ticking quietens to a heart beat Nothing awaits the traveller transcending unseen boundaries The sun trudges past tackling a canvas meant for greater art A delicate brush The colours never bleed I paint the picture, I want to feel I see myself because here everything lies unveiled
Mine alone Is the country in my soul I enter there without a passport As if it is my home. It sees my sadness And my solitude It lulls me to sleep And covers me with a heavy perfume.
In me gardens bloom. The flowers are my creations The streets belong to me But there are no houses, They were destroyed in their infancy. The inhabitants roam the air In search of a home; They dwell in my soul.
For this reason I smile When my sun barely shines Or cry Like a light rain In the night.
There was a time when I had two heads. There was a time when these two faces Covered themselves in an amorous dew And dissolved into the perfume of a rose.
At present it seems to me That even when I retreat I press on Toward a lofty portal Behind which stretch out walls Where sleep faint thunder And shattered bolts of lighting.
Mine alone Is the country found in my soul.
