You must have heard the hum of love In the valley of silence When a rowdy bee stung you Your violin, then, strummed Lush, leafy trees A butterfly danced On the golden strings Then reposed on the hand Of the blond female musician Like a whiteness-intoxicated camellia flower While your fingers tackle the keys Of the elegant piano That mad note of yours Seems to roar a wild scent That caresses your rebellious silence At your magical touch The sky showers gypsy beauties And captivating ballets dancers The prairie wild horses Ramble along on daisy paths Embracing virgin sunrays And golden oranges The diligent ants, intoxicated With raindrops Play the saxophone On the branches of an ancient oak tree While the mute fingers Fashion from the silver of silence Statues of moaning futility And madness Until the silence Spellbound in the fairies' valley Almost broke its incantation And let out from its revolutionary throat A musical scream Trickling love On D-major scale A new silence Suggesting departure Peers out of the balcony of your eyes Into the foot of the mountain That perceives its own weariness On a threshold Covered with the moss Of the swan lake Where abides the curse of love That have metamorphosed Rome's lovers Into symphony and sonnet-chirping swallows The skies would thicken with jasmine And the jasmine would send down Showers of wandering, wafting scent On the grasses of hope That orphan village Fenced in by hoary oaks Lets out a deep anticipatory gasp For a prideful, elated mare To carry on her back of passion Your village girl Embraced by two dove wings While her heavenly attire Eagerly flutters with the winds of longing To meet the beloved Meanwhile, your silent indignation Rebukes the winds To make way for the shy violets Toward the green hill Toward the sugar castle Toward the royal balcony That was shut down by the Sixteenth Czar For ages the deserted balcony Wept the departure of songs There in the hallway of the palace You lit for the lips The candles of bashful silence And pulled the purple curtains closed On the davenport of groves While the reflection of the silver chandelier Sparkled atop a sumptuous table Replete with luscious, heavenly fruit Roasted turkey and mountain ducks The wild, chaotic sense-children Reveled in the absence of the palace lady And made songs As melodious as colorful clouds As enchanting as a flock of pigeons Darting out of rose terraces And marble windows. The hallway remains tethered To the anchor of time While the wind Flips the pages of your old notepad. Atop a table An old gramophone Loudly plays An historically familiar symphony That heart records fondly repeat With your love, darling " All men will be brothers"*