ΠΟΙΗΜΑ «ΠΑΡΑΙΣΘΗΣΗ» ΤΟΥ ΗΡΑΚΛΗ ΒΟΥΛΓΑΡΑΚΗ

Illusion

I welcome you tonight in the dead of winter,
you noble one,
good chimeric spirit, feminine.
All the remaining flowers and myrrh
my soul drained, blessing
in your insane expectation.

Welcome sunflower, sunborn,
rupturing my huge frosty desolation.
Following quietly the sun’s path,
you know only to glide in full bright,
through shady secret halls
in the shut roofs of my soul,
pented, you, unransomed memory,
of the pure youth unjustified amorous expectation.

Form undetermined, confused,
incessantly transforming
in the eternity of the years that passed,
with unbraid fairy hair
sprinkled with roses and sundust,
shining, with sweet eyes,
unspecified naked in your spider veils,
undefiled rosy flesh,
ethereal, annihilated, transparent, fragranting,
courting sobbing with my wakefulness,
while the moonlight with the dark.

Leave me to grab your shoulder
and drive my blind steps
beyond the eternity.

I am tired to tramp and to belied
in the overcrowding of the pursuits.

Leave me to believe, in vain so- I know-
in this night erotic illusion of mine,
because, without expectations, life does not exist.

Dame, you, of my white meditations,
do not turn your face far from me.
I’ m afraid of the exprosure.
Thus I desire to experience you,
through the blurred and the magic
of the remoted, of the unreachable, of the dreamy, of the impossible.
I’ m afraid of the exposure because you do not exist.