1 The stork flew. The stork of my childhood Flew farther and farther. But the meeting with it Remained as a dream growing inside me Like a growing fire in the crater of the volcano. 2 Alas! My ambiguous letters. Alas! My lost women. Alas! My masks that go on uncovering me. Alas! My years that follow one another Meaninglessly or almost meaninglessly. Alas! My nakedness that surrounded me Like soldiers surrounded an armless man. 3 In times of black chairs Dreams to fly lessen every day Lessen Lessen Until they become as small as a sand grain. 4 Who are you? What makes me write to you my contemporary Iliad? Uncover your selfishness So that I can show you my orphanhood. Uncover your miserliness So that I can show my date palm. Uncover your ambiguity and plots So that I can show you my clearness and naivety. Uncover your death So that I can show my doomsday. 5 I am no more than a child Who fell in the sea, the sea of letters. So he drowned until the letters wept for it. I am no more than a monk Who saw a fresh white violet undressing So he remained trembling all his life. I am no more than a feather From a slain bird. 6 My stork, When will you come so I can stop weeping? When will you perch so I can stop my tears from welling up? When will you perch so I can get happiness In your warm beak, And sense my boyhood Laughing through the whiteness of your wonderful feathers? 7 The stork is still hovering around my heart. My heart which death, hunger and fire have confiscated. My heart which the dream to fly has confiscated. So what will I do I who have no hands to speak with Nor legs to fly with Nor lips to remember with Nor a memory for practising magic Nor magic for catching my wonderful stork?