Nights and Tales
My head is overflowing
With nights and tales
And with black thoughts.
My vision is raided
By a whirlwind of time’s sand
And the sobbing of a rabid brain.
My memory is churning the summer’s illusions
And the farce of whims and wills.
I hear the footpaths of sorrow rumbling in my ears
And the whistles of the trains of exile whispering:
“Hey, you! Traveller in the port of the dreams
Fiddling with the strings of desire
Do not play with colours!
Let your fingers be burnt by amazement
And the ladies fill your head with mysteries”.