You loved my long hair, you would tell me
that you sensed the pleasant smell of perfume,
while you quietly ruffled,
the strands of hair,
soft and thin like threads of silk,
with a tender and sensual gesture.
You said that you heard their delicate sound
and whispered bodlerian, softly:
„I want to swim my love, in your gentle parfume!”
and an otherworldly shiver traversed my body.
Then, your hair had a few strands of silver
from the moon’s shine.
I am looking now at pictures from your last years…
You are young, and I have grown old.
I close my eyes, I am ready to cease living,
could go back in that sacred time,
so that you and I can stay forever young ...
You appear between waking and dream,
when my gaze hides between eyelids,
with the bittersweet memory.
You disturb the stillness of my rest,
whispering strained, convinced:
Come on,
get up and seat yourself at the writing desk,
write about the world we lived in,
imagine new worlds,
no one will judge you,
there will be plenty of time for sleep!