O sun of the sunset,
gently now — go back behind the setting-place,
take away the pallor,
for the meeting with the beloved
is tomorrow... when the morning sun comes up.
Tomorrow, everything grows light.
And I passed it, a night, at ease,
thinking of the evenings of tomorrow,
thinking of my happy dream
and of the one who will bind up those wounds.
And this sunrise
will seal that long separation
with a meeting that delights
my heart — and here it is, longing to set out
to meet the friend.
And I could bear no long forbearance,
for the road
is long... I grew weary of waiting.
At last it came,
and scarcely had it settled
into my night — and yet I stood amid a fire.
*
A new sunrise
brings me glad tidings of sweet hopes,
and my heart, alone,
searches among the companions;
and this meeting,
like a flash of light,
with a flood of love and fierce longing.
*
With longing that insists,
his face and his eyes look out at me,
and my guess comes true —
how much, I wonder, have the years changed him?!
He calls: Come.
He calls: Do you not hear the call?
Why do you call:
Come... and then fall silent — what has come over you?
And this heart of mine —
silence has been sweeping it away since first it saw you.
You do not know,
and you pass the meeting in a doubtful silence;
you have thrown me into confusion —
... In our house, on the balcony facing the sea, there is a small pot of flowers. It was radiant with pure white the day I gave it to you on Mother's Day, in my name and in my brothers' and sisters' names... And never, as long as I live, shall I forget the smile of contentment in your eyes as they lingered, gazing at its open blossoms...
What gentle care was lavished on that pot, so that its buds might stay joyful, heads held high, spreading through your room at least some small measure of life and hope. And the flowers strove and struggled for a time... but then:
One by one, the elegant beauties began to close their round eyes and bend their slender necks in the surrender of despair — until that black yesterday, on our return from the painful farewell to you, after we had laid your pure body to rest beneath a green cypress and perfumed its earth with heaps of roses and carnations...
And in my silent daze I went out to the balcony to look in on your mournful flowerpot — and there the last flower had gathered in her veils in a gentle folding... and leaned upon her mother's arm.
*
Is it mere coincidence, this close-knit bond between your soul and the soul of your white flowers, Mother?!