Clouds <br />passing <br />laden <br />with the ink perpetuated on my fingers <br />From my body <br />I have inherited the night <br />without mastering the babble <br />that gargles words <br />a mass of shadows <br />become rainfall <br />cleave the heart <br />or <br />drape over me a mantle of feathers <br />It may be that on your shoulders a frequency sparkles <br />with redoubled iridescences <br />water whiteness <br />rag whose blue infiltrates you <br />agonized greening <br />the ink is confined to the frontiers of crimson <br />without your understanding <br />why <br />gilding is inapt to restore <br />just a rudiment <br />of immensity and air <br />The lightning bolt of decease <br />reclaims you <br />on the neighbourly balcony <br />with its accumulated winters <br />And in the depths of ashes roads cross <br />Wherever you may be <br />You are on a voyage to where <br />The call to near ones and to veils <br />Provides its shadow <br />You yourself salute yourself <br />Salute a lightness of saying <br />continually <br />in provenance <br />from the loss <br />look at yourself <br />test the point of the gesture <br />the crayons of autumn <br />the aerial transparency <br />with which you <br />sprinkle the one athirst <br />Plunge your hands <br />in the nun <br />a pure river <br />dissipating a secret's reflection <br />that disperses <br />sources and river mouths <br />it has galleries <br />that allow <br />the take-off <br />to the one whose heart rejoices <br />have trust in your vivacity and you shall liberate your knees <br />until the time when <br />silence overflows <br />on both sides <br />that are by no means face to face <br />when all they have between them is blindness <br /> <br />Translated by James Kurkup<br /><br />Mohammed Bennis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/colours-55/
