WIND

Embrace the night on the silent heights, impetuously reveal the destiny of a princess and a castle, of seductive, infinite beauty.

Speak of it to the sea at night, furiously tearing thoughts apart and burning with a sick fire. Speak to it of its strength.

To loneliness in the river of time to the soul lost in memory and to nostalgia, speak of it, while I kneel down to destiny that has come.

Hidden crickets sing to those remote times, which will return. Words of kings that remain words, and a woman looking on and who, distraught, keeps silent.

Speak also the maddened heart that seeks with timid glances. Speak to me, cold and pungent, to my insomnia, to those who, closed in walls, drink their solitude.

Now the sky is dark and empty, my cup is forgetfulness and all the lovers are dead.

Speak to the anxiety that come with the evening, to the dream that slithers by the mirror, pale and cold, that evokes desires for childlike peace.

And full voices from the vibrant past regale me with songs never born.

And so, wind, now tired, carrying her perfume and in the empty nights speak of her, while I cradle myself in an uneasy sleep.

Tear my heart in a long shiver up my spine, in the torment walking by my side, in the icy blood, in the return of past sorrows.

I have not found what I was seeking and what I have found is lost, in confused nights, in wine, in music. In plush cushions and silky skin.

Raising that cup I now toast to whatever might be of use to stop the music, to whoever breaks the spell, to the question without answer.

But suddenly the wind has died down, and now you have, fast and in silence.

The Moon is powerful, and its light, with an unexpected energy that starts the escape. From pain, from time, in the wind.