Love


Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume,
I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me,
you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me,
like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love,
yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you,
I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
shooting stars, falling objects.

Sanskrit Poem

Although I conquer all the earth,
Yet for me there is only one city.
In that city there is for me only one house;
And in that house, one room only;
And in that room, a bed.
And one woman sleeps there,
The shining joy and jewel of all my kingdom.