I’m building my sonnet on peaks, a fortress
With rhymes like crenels and any verse like wall.
For you, hermetic prince, as within endlessness,
To lock you into, pure, got out from the time’s claw.
Wicked, the world’s sea will send its angry thunder,
With packs of envy, strife, and ugly hatred,
They will not budge a jot from its proud armor,
Helpless, they will not waste the mighty secret.
Hence forward we don’t care what will happen...
Enchaining the oblivion and shackling its flight,
With the eternity’s in bloom laurels on temple,
We will face out the past that future it incites:

Within my heart are hidden the immortality’s symbols,
I’ll write them with the carats of love in golden ingots.

Winter solstice, 1954