Images of the Spirit 2

1.         If only others ought to understand,

The conscious wild in this soul.

If for a moment they reflected me,

What might the earth terribly become?

For those with freedom in their intelligence,

Could fear the paradox of the unlimited.

If only others ought to understand,

This wildered son of the trees themselves,

I´d teach them a language

Known only to expiring flowers,

A blurry notation of the blackbird’s singing,

As this would their eyes open,

To the creation of God, or of that blessed Spirit,

Because It wants us to admire,

This sigh of felicity and content.

2.         Such joys in their small essence,

Come from, and into the heart,

Though far too big,

Still they plunge deep, and stay.

You, dear blood, come to me.

I feel, even from this cold firmament,

Even if all seas

Cast walls of salty foam between us,

Your laughter, your pains.

For when I have your eyes,

Not a hint of speech is needed,

Nor I have to break

The silent noon we see.

All, and yet nothing

Is conceived,

A world of peaceful thoughts;

Often terrible and black winds,

Often Heaven lying on your pure content

Exist amongst the domes of your mind,

Though always in eternity with me.

Rest, oh agitated soul,

As Fraternity rushes my hand to you

So that in dark and empty hours,

It shall never abandon you.