On nights with a full moon, my mind imagines
a feverish poem of fiery verses,
capable of catching the light of the lamps
and quench my thirst, like exquisite wine
flowing from a mouth in love.
My eyes travel the magic words,
the enchanting voice that in my soul is carved,
indelible rumour in my intimate dawn.
But it's only a spell, vain delirium!
A foolish chimera that springs from my lips.
Lunatic fantasies of failed trova
that never managed to take shape in ink.
My dry pen longs for the stormyரிnej்,
the fiery metaphors, the infinite passion
of those verses that never came to be.
