From Your Hair

In his wisdom a magus in days of yore told me

about a veil that our glances cannot pierce,

– an all-conceiling cobweb, obscuring the world high and low,

so that we behold nothing of the real realm.

And now, when your hair pours forth over

my cheeks, my eyes,

inflamed by overwhelming black and lavish curly locks

I dream

that the veil, which transmutes the wide world into mystery,

is woven

from your hair –

and I scream

and scream,

for the first time recapturing

the pure enchantment enwrapped in the magus’story.

To My Readers

Here is my house. Over there –

the sun and the garden with beehives.

You pass by, you peer through the gate bars

expecting me to speak. Where shall I start from ?

Trust me, trust me,

you can speak about anything as much as you please :

about fate and about the snake of good,

about the archangels ploughing

man’s gardens,

about the sky we are rising towards,

about hatred and fall, sadness and crucifixions

and, above all, about the great passage.

My words are but the tears of the ones

who wished they could cry.

Most bitter are all the words,

therefore let me

walk among you speechless,

let me come your way with my eyes closed.

English version by Gabriela PACHIA