Tell
me the subtle world as it is called, oh forest,
You
who want to burn the fiery flame in me,
you,
who cross with cruel thorns the frozen
* * *
The
world that enlightens your evil existence
must
to be called the world that before you was nothing,
It
is the sacred forest where my spirit reigns,
Incapable
of damage, helplessness of bad ideas.
You
have to find me in the forest, it deserves
My
way through the garden of your sacred forest
Where
the moss on the stones greenish grow
And
the light crosses the entangled branches
Of
the thick trees that your smile burns
With
the warm ardor that from your sphere emerges.
My
thought seeks your favor and dips
his
song in the wind that is throwing by your breath
And
the whisper of your flight reverbs in my front
With
an infinite echo that the devil accompanies.
Then,
only then, death abandons me
And
the temple of my soul burns in warm candor,
So
pure, crystalline, so full and transparent
Like
a presentiment that is realized in fate,
As
a decision validating the present
In
what conjecture was and today is destiny.
* * *
Let
me be the one who watches over the peace of your dream.
And
be the one who, in your name, softens the heroic sword
To
beat me to death by the light of your sky,
Dissipating
in battle for you, my whole bourning soul.
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