Saturday, February 19, 2011

dialogues sur l’éloquence de la nature humaine – (2) the rose of silence, the rose of voiceless sounds

Second Act
Listening to the voice of W. B. Yeats

I did not dream that beauty passes like a dream
because for me it passes like a precious word
a rose of the world that is, indeed
the music of silence, and of living
the wind of a delicate gesture
is always a gesture, a murmur of love

I and laboring life are passing by
our motion, mine and another’s
eventually converged to a vacuum
to a single point on the apex of pain, on the climax of silence
pulsating so many melodies of sour
so hideous tunes verging on the loneliness of love
like pale eyes living on this lonely face, in their dim abode
and then I trust, I reverberate
the Archangels of Love used to cut across gentle souls
not mine

Before a delicate Voiceless Word
or any hearts to beat once again inside
before Her honey, before Her feet
I did not even make the world to be a grassy road
and that was because the sounds, the melodies
immersed in a fluid silence of soul
were cold, sleeping in solitude, in a silent tone
what passes for me like a dream
was nothing but a voiceless song of love

Come near, red rose, proud rose
I do not see sadness in your motion
the key to all hearts rely on your smile
and now your dance is tuned to a high and lovely melody
the melody of silence, of reciprocity, of the wind
the melody of a daisy, the melody of beauty
the silent sound of a love

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