Alone, My Beloved!

Morning, my beloved, gazes upon the abundant roses,
and pours upon every cheek a tear;
and I, alone, pour my blood upon the dust-pale roads of life.

*

And dawn, my beloved, dances upon the tresses of the jet-black night,
and I, alone, in the pitch-dark blackness,
drag my steps under my heavy burden.

*

And the rose, my beloved, gives the butterflies to drink from its cups,
and I — I, who thirst even for the drops of summer —
you deny me even the dregs of the cups of your nights.

*

And the light, my beloved, dozes in the violet shade of the leaves,
and I — I, who find no resting place for my head,
not even on pillows of stone in the caves of thieves —
you do not grant me the tremor of an eyelid upon the winding of your fair locks.

*

And night, my beloved, comes upon me,
picking the light from my eyes, grain by grain,
and you will not accept it from me — a humble gift, to stud the edges of your necklace.

*

And the people, my beloved — you shower them with your gifts, with your red kisses.
And I still stand behind the crowds,
waiting with my lamp, to light upon your lips a kiss white as my love.

*

Here — here, my beloved.
I know that I am withering, hope by hope; and yet, it is enough for me that you know
that I am withering. Because... I love you — I love you with all my heart.