Loving darkness, I have really remained merged in my own self.
Light has gradually glided away far- alone in
self-imposition having silence with me I have come to you;
then I have become lonelier, though in reluctance;
all clues also have become dissipated ;
everything, for a long period of time,
has gone down in depth of pierced tiredness-
take me to the close contact of your bosom, oh transient night,
and keep me in the invisibility of the charmed unreality;
actually, only I can realize the warm current of your blood-
the way in which darkness comes down on the incomplete
address of earth; they know, the desisting
decoration of golden embroidery thread on homestead and
rooms inside never comes to an end.
In that way I remain in the total mistake, as if I did not started;
this staggering shadow moves away far from body in the illusory temple
and the soft affection of the grass that has left the sound
from the last leisure of the vast wilderness.
I have not impeded my far fetched tiredness
that I have; you love it and deplore
it to be meaningless because
it has become much expressive
in encouragement. The elation
full of falsehood and foolishness
has given it the adolescence
Really, it was piercing the heart
in discovering seasons.
Life is not the main concern;
the periphery of dreams
and the new languages of afternoon
are my pride; rolling up the sleeves,
I collect the affectionate darkness
again and again; I go on smearing
night that floods all over the sky
in pain devoid of pain. This verb is a construed one;
I remove the hindrance of the consonant,
a mundane matter, that has given
the freedom from fetters
and the ventilating sylvan eye
supplanted in front of night
on the terminal route of earth.
What have I drunk in the lore
of the flavor-intoxicated night?
What a discussion that was
at the outer house of the sacred soul!
The foreword has not been vague;
tiredness has not come in wandering;
man and the wonderful inn are
in the paths infatuated with clouds-
all the mysteries and shadow playing
were in possession of their hearts-
far from eternity who else keeps on
waiting touching the eves of clouds;
when the wings formed by rain has got mingled,
the feeling of being exiled emerges in
the memories of blood like all the
illusory sculptures of ruins;
and we are led at bay in the ideas of the end.
Much earlier have I started expecting
a novel death. The corridors having no
dividing lines are the males of night-
night of a short span, get me absorbed in noiselessness
in you with the relation of the mirror and unity
having the weight of the elm feathers!
When life and lifelessness get united,
I break the penetrability of night
having the existence of certainty of life
in the immediate time and the certainty of space.