TO THE LOVERS OF TIMEs TO COME


(one)

Oh, beloved,

You shouldn’t speak of floods;

Frightened,

I would curl tight around you.

Shores are far, far away;

No bird is seen in the empty skies

With soil-stained beak,

Or an olive twig in the claws.

(Two)

Yonder days, it was trunkful of kisses

I sent you;

Derailing stars

Masked into bunches of fruits

Hung in array on mountain trees

(Three)

The sweet dried figs, and dates from deserts;

And the colours of dreams and jewels

Mined in fathoms

Hadn’t someone said

That shades where fig trees

Wouldn’t bear fruits will come;

Saplings of ages and dreams

Would lose their seasons;

Check dams would be made in oases;

And deserts would be spread over mountains?

(Four)

I know you have preserved my kisses;

Love can be great floods,

Or steep falls,

Or even oceans.

Still I knew then and always:

Love would remain uneroded.


(Five)

You swam in the endless empires

Angel hadn’t seen;

You flowed smooth in the torrents

Where zebras bathe and game.

I saw the foot steps you left on the hills

Where coffee shrubs had flowered,

And in the fields

Where tiny flowers bloomed,

Spreading fragrance of love and sweat

Still I knew then and always:

Love is an eternal sprout,

It never ceases to flow.

(Six)

At last we rejoin now.

Oh, beloved, You shouldn’t speak of floods;

Let us speak only about love;

About changing springs and summers;


Let us kiss intense love,

And, then shrink into bright-lit stars;

Let us dart as arrow stars

To the lovers of times to come