Chimera

San Marco was so silent as bookshelf,
that vision was the coolest – cold and cloddy:
a man, the pier, bridges and myself
inside a boat, outside my body.

That Man and me, no others, – I’ll bequeath
the poor ghosts from books I’ve written only.
The sparks of God, all poets sent beneath
to flash on Earth are tragical and lonely.

Morpheus, sleeping on the waves with breeze,
is just awakened by the oars splashing.
I have been dreaming of a lot of seas,
but how many springs have I got cashing?

San Marco’s moving right into the fog,
the bridges and the roofs are getting smaller,
“The earthly realm is a deceptive vogue!”
In vain! – he doesn’t hear what I holler.

The pain of the reality revealed
is comforted by truth of Homer’s era:
thus, no Spirit can be ever sealed
by Death, that is a pitiful chimera!

“I am alive! Please, hear me!” – destroyed,
my voice is nothing, damn it, no choices –
I’m drawn to be the music of the Void,
Eternity has no need of voices.

The ivy’ll hide the urn with ashing stack,
but I would like to meet him on the road, –
that Man, whose hooded cloak’s long and black,
whose tears will touch my body in the boat.

January 26, 2011;