In the shadow of the night, on the corridors of magical silence, keeping the sacred secret
In the shadow of the night, on the corridors of magical silence, keeping the sacred secret,
I would send souls in search of a love made of mist and torn pain,
To transform sorrow into poetry, cheap wine into sacred nectar,
Sufferings into divine temples, opening the gates of hidden longing.
To get lost under the sky transformed by forgotten picnics, like fugitive specters,
The rose garden, an oasis of false perfection, would become a fleeting mirage,
The echo of lost dreams would become sirens on desert shores,
Heavy prose would crumble into ignored ghosts, wandering on endless lines.
The shadows of memory would dance like forgotten illusions in the corners of the soul,
Old photographs would become windows to ephemeral, endless worlds,
In the moonlight, the crust of biscuits would become a nocturnal refuge,
Night would dance to the rhythm of fear and freedom, releasing eternal longings.
Seeking quiet in freed voices, the spirit would take form,
Captive in bodily mirage, we would understand deeply hidden secrets,
Shadows would become fearful poets, walking on unknown lands,
In the endless chaos, we would find balance, turning non-love into sublime art.
The cosmic dance would embrace us, even when stars descend into secret dreams,
From misfortune, the magic of creation would bloom, stories of infinity and ecstasy,
Chaos and fear would become the notes of a mystic song,
In which light and darkness combine, separating and uniting dreams in eternal harmony.
To seek sorrow, for from it is born the purest art,
From banal pain and hidden sufferings, endless stories grow,
And to accept that chaos, fear, are but echoes of a secret song,
In which our souls dance among shadows and lights, in an endless divine asymmetry.
Copyright © Dan Enache | Year Posted 2024
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