The Last Night

Do you remember
our last night together?
When you came,
holding the salt of the sea in your eyes
and, in your chest,
hiding a pitch-black night
and a sorrowful sparrow.

And despite the heavy silence
in the soul, the eyes and the lips,
how I saw, with my own eyes,
your buried wish
that Aladdin might come
and rub the lamp,
and the genie imprisoned in you
for thousands of years
would come out.

And how I,
yielding to the blood's entreaty
in the arteries
that leapt through your limbs,
became every prop of the tale:
your magic lamp,
the genie imprisoned in you,
even Aladdin himself,
and became the flying carpet
that carried you
above the tangled dreams of the humble subjects,
far from the legions of walls and locks
and the guards armed with hoarded madness.

And how I became, up in the heights, a sorcerer
who scattered you through the air
like grains of flour,
then kneaded your cells
into dough between my palms
and baked you on my ribs,
a loaf for hungry hearts,
and made of you moons
for the dreams of maidens
and stars
for the paths of the lost.
I made your hair in the wind
a music to whose tunes
the dawn sways,
and the sigh that flowed
from the hollows of your chest
I proclaimed a song for lovers.

And you rejoiced,
and, rejoicing, you pierced
the wall of silence,
and their windows shook,
and the radar screen announced
that we had been spotted in a kiss, openly declared,
that blinded the eyes of the envious.
So we were counted among the sinners,
and the guards fired
their bullets at my wings,
and my blood scattered in the air,
the sky reeled around me,
and oxygen betrayed my chest.

And before I shed my last breath
I entrusted you to a cloud
that rushed to our rescue there
and carried you far away,
beyond the range where the law of clay holds,
and I fell upon the slopes,
and my soul evaporated
with the rising sun.

And ever since,
whenever a cloud passes,
it rains jasmine
over my grave.