Let it be too late,
I do not care, because
Some habits are worth to be taken
Even in the last day of one’s life.
As far as I remember
Whenever you said or did something
Inspired by malice,
And encouraged by ignorance,
Hate erupted in my heart,
Its hellish flames soaring
Into the bursting globes of my eyes,
And its poisonous smoke darkening
The sphere of my consciousness.
Then, it seemed to me
That you have turned
All the waters of earth
Into blood and slime;
And have burned
All the vegetation of the world
To the last leaf of grass;
And have reduced
All the noble hopes of man
To the rubble of lostness.
But now,
Following my new habit,
I simply close my heart to hate,
And looking at your face
With a bright smile,
I begin to transform your features
By the magic of Death
Into a landscape:
I put a crown of snow
On the black mountain of your head;
Cover the desert of your brow
With rain-washed, sun-kissed meadows;
Fill the swamps of your eyes
With towering oaks and birches;
Spread over your cheeks
Blooming gardens of roses and jasmines;
And giving your nose
The pleasant, inviting look
Of a quiet, green hill,
I sit,
At its foot,
On the marble bench of your upper lip,
In the shade of a willow tree,
And on the serene lake of your mouth
Ecstatically watch the graceful sailing
Of the white swans.
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