NIGHTLY STRINGS "NOCTURNES"

(Painting: Jean Delville Trearue of Satan 1895)

At that hour of the night’s lusts
golden sparrows of thorn—shrubs
bestow the glories of ancient—old
Arabian kings;
and the bushes of wilderness— diffuse
the warmth of a Bedouin girl;
congest and pause the almond—milk
of her offerings—at night drips
and beneath the breasts;
A flask— I.

At that hour when things be;
absolute sob—
on the camel I was;
in the eternal night stars engrossed
meeting with open arms;
the spirit of the desert.
O thou Bedouin;
in migration— absorbed;
Thyself supply;
before the Empty Quarter;
with a water drop.

How did it sneak into this cage—locked;
as a smell of night?
How did it slink like an almond blossom;
into a book of mystical songs?
How did it prowl;
this savage suffering— aflame;
around and notice—I did not
as escape and fears;
in me it writes,
its eyes in my heart wipes;
in the ecstasy of a moment at night.
O holder of the lantern;
esoteric unseen,
in the darkness of thy eyes!
from the language of sorrows; sing
for my soul a song.

O bird of light;
my soul at night into doves comes;
which to the cosmic—source; I tote
in an overflow of a glut of fear,
and for me thou been; forlorn,
thy space had carefully washed—
in a mud—wearied soul,
the mud’s exhaust.
Departing this mud soon,
mud depletes; mud worn.
in what of streets at night;
kinds; people, with All;
and under the night’s cloak;
a time spent intimate—close
with puissant of the streets type
sultans; powerful are they
the moment when the night falls.

In every woman; dozed he,
and with what in the palms of heat;
orchards in her; he stowed.
Of lightning O bird!
of warmth a woman I want,
For warmth I am; ardor,
A body of warmth I want,
in sweat she; in my hands glows
like the heaven’s keys;
and my sins; of wrong deeds,
alike the life— remains;
and illusions— mine
which I did in thee behold.
Came thou of lightning O bird;
a vision in my dreams;
out of palms of heavenly groves
O bearer of the revelation mystery
of the orient— dusk;
by the darkness in my days unfolds;
to homeland my greetings bestow;
when in the arms of Morpheus;
the people are.

Been thou to the core?
it has a fire; nebulous—soft!
And inflates of the discovery; the depth—
within thee; the mysterious—unknown,
for unto nihilism brings;
a revealing path.
And thou by revelation in mystery; disclose—
the hours of the winter night.
Whence with fire thou tryst;
rape and the grace plunder;
what—is in language of words,
and into chaos my soul turns;
a moment before falling in love.

Wells— two of a black lust;
of the thighs—apace bring,
the movement of a naked woman;
drunkenness lukewarm; gleams
in her eyes; a mystic sob
And a sodden—ember ablaze—is;
bedewing a floral sleep.
like a perfume decamps she—
so I catch her and she in my palms melts.
betwixt I bury my fervent nose;
the breasts and they at me laughs.
O bird... in love I and I do not know
How, Why, Who is—she...
benighted— I; artless nescient
for love is to—not know.
Discerns thou what ONE is—like,
when in love falls?
a crazy tryst of the rivers—All;
mythic—pure
in a forest of light from his tear; roves
dying as an eternal tryst.

The body of wax in fire blooms;
and of the Levant I—see
the history—full
and almost pages I skipped
that of the Umayyad throne,
chokes me thence a bitter wind
the words scatter; admix
and full I feel of regret and fear;
commix the wind with an ardent voice
that of a righteous friend;
knocks then on the king’s door;
trumpeting a revolution.

At that hour of nightly lusts;
soulfully the birds of thorns;
a female preen
and my mother had me composed;
of the nightly—honey is;
in a flower—fig,
left me in the groves;
on a friendly—warm soil;
guarded by a green stone,
of a knife whence I had a dream,
the powdery on my libs twitch;
sugar—sweet of lesbian lust
where did art thou leave;
thy compeers of spirit—cups?
one by one they crossed
the sugar—bridge
now in the eternal they meet;
and alone I—ditched;
staring into the spirit—drinks
and in silence on the heart—I;
hardly pressed;
I will be drunk
Drunk deep,
for the world is but night—filled.

Why reproach me as for repent to bring!
did the seagull weeps what heavy—were
of weight in his broken wings?
had it rue in lifting; the goodness—rich
a women sinful off the ground?
did God in creation the booze repent
and of all the earthly sweet—sins;
had he his hands washed?
sins are of moral wrongs!
Into the orchard of secrets thou come
on the smallest rosebud I show;
to thee; God—
goodness— effuse of his feet—
and longing—smudged
for the horses in the wild—ride
and the letter of feminine
on his hooves melts.
For as long as there is;
of the night a wolf;
will l in the spirit—drinks;
refuge take
and odd is this lustful body!

In a night of passion and love;
composed—I my mother had;
So at night I seep,
the snow of when it melts
I ask of man and ice
left me on the soil warm
of orchard under the bule sky
the poor’s collect and assemble me;
fate—written is this All
so I cried—in sweeping tears;
thence came onto raisins—sweet;
the abundance of the tear drops.

On verge: of the lightening O bird;
of drying—is the water of life
of my soul’s open I keep
the long—forsaken temples;
if thy heartbeats strange I hear
rouse the symbols and all graphemes
ascetic—are; calling thee;
thou art beloved.
Before thy glimmering eyes prithee;
I—with the remnants for me
left by the passing days
array my conjoined palms.
At my soul’s horizons are thee
a sunset and a sunrise,
into seclusion I took thee and called:
on them thou hath O trusty—mine;
lavished in the spirit—drinks,
so why—me; did they pierce
and my inside—cut?
the cosmos hale and hearty was;
why down the coffin of sorrow brings;
in my well—being to be entombed?

Aye of lightening O bird;
mirage I saw thee
accompany my caravan on;
the horizon of time—past.
And glimmering in darkness—total
thy two letters in my lung
and awake—full I saw thee
gurgling from two young breasts
tormented—I by the fiery lust;
ever since I was milk—
warm and fair in the breast
and weeping was my lib
of the lust— singe in the air.
Hark thou to the beastly gloom!
of sob my language drawing near
from my sight thou barely escaped;
that thou hath not tried
a pretext in language to scrawl;
of my window thy escape.
Avoid thou of the language to scribe
that of a world—lost
sunk are we each day
in that language—lost.
Dewy are the lanterns of God
lisping in—slumber thy stars;
there at eternity’s gates.
Out—for thy attendance I watch
in a turquoise of mad—lust
berserk in an oleander flower—
grey from my motherland
like that of the people’s peace.
awaiting for thee I gaze—
tapping on the forsaken door
when in confused eyes,
thou looks and stare
arouse thence in my orbs
the desert of ascetic love!

O bird, there in my furthest of heart
reached they and buried a child
sobbed—I and into flame
my tears brightly blazed
thence of the life—graves
my nature at dusk I unveiled
so perplexing I seem
in the eyes of the thorn—libs,
my orbs; the inferno’s blaze;
as if of sins— wrong
brimming is the sky of God
Dozed not but with naked dulls
and rhapsodic with them at dawn
in the cradle in time played
often had the God of lust
kissed the bridge of my bed
and my hand deep I tucked
for his smile to grasp
short came my finger—tips
and buoyant did he escape
thence of my life—time;
dreams—filled the void came
by the heavenly visions of thee
yesterday thou arrived late
alas, that thou hath
for that the pirate's departure
To the sea of ​​darkness drew near.

Late were of lightening O Bird;
About—I to the door of life
closed—ditched eternally set
and I my worn—shoes
off— take from the days—filth
Hark thou to the beastly gloom:
Beyond the oceans of horrors—
haunted by boiling water
there is a castle of silence
whence is a terrifying well
like atop stacked graves—
the last to a prison leads
amidst the prison a cage lay
wrapped in warblers of death
of dead—bird holding remains—
for three centuries burial it waits
centuries past since my soul;
I—in a tomb had confide
centuries past since my soul;
alive—consigned to the grave
centuries past since my first—sob
searching for a breast to suckle
for empty I have been
needing of a woman’s milk
gracefully drips in my flask.

At that hour when desire is;
a cooing of doves a male— stud
there on a mountain deserted;
onto the riddle in secrets— engulfed
And of wild apples what bites;
like a wolf full of lust;
a scent; savor—soft;
I enfold my fiery wings.
The human sorrow I—blindly roam;
in a movement like a sea crab
As if—in my ecstasy— eternal
An ocean that of time dreams
of years, millenniums and thousands
And its shells ashore throws.
Ashamed made me of myself;
this excessive rave spreads;
the sorrow of nations—wide;
that in my heart rests.
For I speak the prophet's word:
That the seeds of pleasure
in the universe womb extends;
blades and green—flames;;
and had given judgments eternal
as for thou hath returned;
the deserted mountain dove
and near a stone of river—lone;
practicing its secret habit
hath of its river habit;
thou been informed?

Who tells my lonely soul
To extinguish the lantern of love;
and set this window—close?
For stripped like a newborn
hath the night’s dust,
and in consciousness had burned
spaces of green—vast
So I—lit a match— blue
in the glowing green flames
for I in the fire may;
unto divine visions come;
and the moment could too
me—avow and know.
Whom then out comes betwixt:
the doe and the wolf’s howl?
of my escape in the grove,
amongst the palm trees; 
escorts me half the road? 
after the half we reach;
says with thou I stay.

O Bird of lightning at wings;
in the eternal sorrows of soul
how was it as a blossom tucked
of vision in a mystical whim?
its eyes in my heart wipes
in a moment of romance at night.
In me it writes and rouse;
what?!
And at that hour of night's lusts
to hamlets stolen of land—lost
towards the chambers of beds;
a stealth prowl the wind's king
there in the desert—farthest
stray is the feminine fuzz
in the wilds like a hoopoe's head
teeming by a heavenly warmth
like an ember of night; red
and over the ember I am,
like a vessel flipped.

At that hour,
when things are absolute lust
on the camel I was enthralled
by the eternal stars of night,
welcoming the spirit of the desert
a lightning forked in my lungs
and let off in the endless I
of lonesome and stranding;
an addict.

And a desert dove is the heart;
cooing; by the dew shines
casts its shadow a song;
extends its beak to the desert sun;
as a language of mysteries
by who of the light informed
its talismans solely unveiled—
and shadows are languages mute
and at that hour I;
a confession; tied—tongue,
over mute spaces I wish;
the utter divine love;
for a kiss; a mouth—sweet;
for the revolution a sword.
Whence for those I scribe;
who the esoteric grasp:
to love I owe belonging; slight
for I to the masses belong
which to a pyramid of might
had their anguish raised;
of Tyre and Bosra;
established the stadiums
by the towers of Babel
kindled had the God’s sky,
to the hungry so I belong
and those who strive too,
I belong to the martyr who;
the god’s face on his lungs;
gashed by a friendly fire,
but contend with hope
hath he himself armed.

At that night when thing be
absolute silence
by a dagger and exile
loved me my homeland
and with the dagger in my heart
I migrate in the desert—vast
for the heart wonted exile
and by lightning had been taught;
to mellow to maturity’s end
so it—open freely falls
into the sweet— taste
when inside—it, it pours
thence trumpets eternal roared
heard and sleepless becomes;
my soul whence she knew;
the key hidden is
in its parent lock
knew how it links;
to the lock concealed
within the key
then All things licit unfurls.


Heed thou in migrations absorbed
O Bedouin of the desert—vast;
illness grew heavy—bald
for the night thou ought
thy drool to store and keep
For a guide must always be
for this night—long;
pointing the path of wells
and by his fiery will;
convincing the camel’s she
tirelessly to plod;
in the endless desert’s cold.

I depart the occupied paradise
like a sad river—lone;
fleeing of the sewers filth,
remains true to its course,
Of her I ask where,
will she my lanterns lit?
For rapes to sorrow; the soul
does the darkness of night
in me a life dies,
thy clay O Lord
and the sulfur burns
as thoughts mad
thy clay of imprints full
by consciousness made corrupt,
years built of an age long
thy clay by the roads tossed
at that night of exile and rain.

Unto thou I had come
by the poems guided and led,
thence how can I thou out point,
when embers my poems are?
By tears made—I; soft;
a wedding kerchief; hushed
take me and thy lanterns wipe
so with the secrets All
shine I with them at night.

Blame thou the infidels not
For hunger is their father, O Lord!!
in the ranks of the infidels—starved
I;
for as long as of the weight of sins
prostrating the others are
and from thy anger O’ God,
in thee I seek refuge
I fold on thou my wing at dawn
O’ Lord of the sea stars
like the last bird on land
to thou oceans I crossed
Then the spirit; absolute
my frail body had wrapped;
in cruelty, narcissus, and time,
and of the unseen’s wind
to a path had me fetched;
where rippling are the hours—small
and the first bird chirped;
ablaze on the horizon— blue.
Rouse thou my bread, O Lord
Let in the villages wafts—
up in the air its sweet scent,
confounded by exhaust and lust
which in my hunger root
knocked they on a door locked
called thence a zestful voice;
the voice a female ‘twas
and exile a female ‘twas,
when she had me hugged
- who’s there? ‘t spoke
replied as a fire in the meadows doused;
tis I O’ noble home.