English poem VIII

Murmurs in the distance invade the room and break the silence.

 

And at this very suspended moment,

 

Through the flickering light,

 

All I can see are awful shadows cast on the wall:

 

“Would those be the outlines of my own life?

 

 

Reminiscences of a distorted reality

 

That comes back to me with its virtues unsung?”

 

O, the fury with which this darkness engulfs my peace,

 

Letting all the grief hitherto amassed in my heart

 

‘Scape in a torrent of undefined, seldom sought and hopeless recollections.

 

 

When the torments cease, fading away like a drop of dew on a blade of grass

 

And the final peace fully embraces the whole of my being,

 

Joy and sorrow hand in hand, no stain, no shadows ever cast,

 

That will be the day to welcome the morrow.