I need to imagine analogies
discarding the trite images
used for lovely ladies.
I won’t bother my mind,
thinking you deserve it or not
for creativity and affection defy logic.
The tip of your nose,
the periphery of your lips
the curve of your chin,
pregnant with subtle excitement,
befitting your reaction to viewing me
Which plane of creative talent should I lift them to?
How should they be labeled? A puzzle for loving eyes,
not shared by the eyes that view parts as parts.
Magnetic charm? Ah! Perpetuity is not its domain.
Flowers’ fragrance? But with endurance it’s not blessed.
The Sun’s power over me? Its brightness is glaring –uncomfortably!
Powerful wind? Doesn’t it subside?
Lord of male charm? Ah! Your allure defies categories,
and synthesis would be a simple word–
regardless of the trace of virility and delicacy:
this challenges the most fertile of imaginations
to conceive an image with the depth of the blue
tempting one to plumb,
the magnificence of the heaven sparking a yearning for exploration,
sprinkled by Amor with the dust of dazzle.
So if the ingenuity of the human mind invents
something of ineffaceable charm;
if the shine and softness characterize the single sun
as it rises and sets;
if the flower with fragrance pulling us into the whorl,
is discovered in our realm;
if the wind in its eternal journey whirls us across
the infinite cosmos—and we don’t feel the need for a rest;
and if my imagination does construct the visage blessed by Amor,
the eulogy to you would progress…
But don’t ask me to guess the final verse
for it will never be written!
My verses are not the ocean
whose waves are circumscribed by the shore
(and in crossing which they commit adultery for sure).
Nor do they identify with life in any mission:
drawn by my obsession, they are the untiring chariot,
and my obsession is blind
with no end in sight.