Wipe my exhausted forehead,
Give me back the stolen evening chants.
My memory, which you infused with blame,
I lent it to the sun.
The moon is a destiny
And the sun comes to pass.
The sky trembles
Under the sun’s ragged dress.
I will dot it with a plethora of stars
And laugh
From the sea of my heart.
I am arduous desire
Bequeathed from mother Eve.
For eons I’ve known it well.
You’re attracted to my words
Despite yourself.
Blasphemous passion
gushes from the eyes,
from one river bank to the other.
The smile on your lips enveloped in wonder.
The prophets break the idols of stone
And I followed in the footsteps of the saints.
The translated poem was first published on Whispering Dialogue