My Only Spiritual Sanctuary
Ah… You—the legend and the rain,
arriving without preamble.
Your warm voice, a balm,
revives my soul like a breeze
from the Garden of Eden, watering me,
a sacred hymn to a thousand homelands
whispering to me,
a book of reflections
calling me through every age.
Your mellow voice is sweeter
than a million kisses,
haunted by the longing of stubborn songs,
engraved with the nectar
of distant memories,
washed with the rarest tears.
Your plaintive voice—a mass and a sanctuary—
a hymn in the colors of the rainbow,
caressing my deepest dreams,
painting me on the horizon,
marking every tribe,
carving me a statue
for the kingdom of poets and desires,
a tender poem
under the showers of the long night rain.
Your enchanting tones flow
like luminous waterfalls
through my veins…
through the pulses of my tears,
gently weaving through my insides,
like the scent of rain
bearing the title
of our eternal dream city,
fragrant with the magic of lights,
the essence of the elixir tree,
and the pulse of deep longings.
Your beautiful voice, shrouded in sorrow,
a legend amidst the gardens of poets,
the alphabet that warms
travelers in winter’s snow.
Your tender voice—
a wondrous world draped in roses of yearning—
flows through my soul with warmth, melodies,
stillness… madness… and revelations.
Who are you, eternal legend?
Who are you, mythical princess?
Traveling with your plaintive voice
on the lips of my wondrous poems,
with the hues of musical rainbows
and the scent of violets.
Your voice is magnificent… O lush-lipped one,
like a surreal painting promising
both sweetness and torment,
symphonic chants
as vast as waves and clouds—
a symphony shaped by winds and seas,
a symphony of temple rituals and fantasy,
a symphony embroidered with the threads
of the long night’s rain,
haunted by the beauty
of a beautiful encounter.
Your voice is an eternal symphony,
flavored with the kisses of passionate poets,
with the ache of the most beautiful women in jealousy.
Your magnificent, delicate voice—
magic… enchantment—
washes me anew
with the rain of warm letters,
sprinkles me with crystal
on the horizon of meanings and melodies,
waters me with the anthem of dreams, rain, and madness,
crowns me a mythical emperor
of the blaze of words,
the whisper of hymns,
and the buds of songs.
Your voice is a bewitching city,
slender with love and fragrance,
a marvelous city hosting me in my dreams,
an oasis gathering me with temptation,
from a desolate exile,
despite my ruins—
a soaring poem
with melodies… spectra… and tears,
a swing drifting me
through the oceans of contemplation,
planting me a mysterious secret
in the archipelago of memories.
Your voice is the atlas of my distant tales,
the sail of my stubborn ship,
and the sanctuary of my solitary soul.
So who are you, O new mythical legend?
