the prophet [Theme] Page 1

Yes, my cradle was in the library;
Dust, Babylon volumes, parchment, silence,
Novels, dictionaries, Latins and Greeks...
I, as in folio, was exalted then.
Two voices talked to me about life.
One, insidious, firm, said to me, "The world is a pie.
Dispel your appetite. At the cost of their efforts
You will know the sweetness of all that God has created."
Another shouted: "Swim in bottomless fairy tales
Over what is conceivable, over what measures the meter."
Ah, that voice sang, bayukal in strange caresses,
Scary and exciting, like winds from the embankment,
Like a phantom who came out of nowhere.
I said, "I'm going!" and that's me then.
Suddenly I felt the pain and the fate that is everywhere
I carry now with me, I carry always, always...
I see new constellations of diamonds
In the blackest abyss of dreams, behind the appearance of things;
Slave of clairvoyance and martyr of ecstasies,
I drag with me indestructible snakes.
And it has been since, as a prophet, wandering;
In the deserts and seas, I, as a prophet, am alone.
I laugh in mourning, I cry on holidays
And I find the beauty in the taste of bitter wines.
To me, the facts seem like some kind of noisy lie,
Counting the stars in the darkness, I get into the moat...
But the Voice whispers to me, "Keep your dreams, crazy!
Clever people do not know such beautiful dreams..."