To My Wife
I don't know yet what you mean to me,
my heart about you keeps me muted,
covered in veil you are my dear,
and to you, I don't know what I mean,
bringing you good fortune, I still don't know,
or my mortal ornament in gold and diamond:
new and sweet infliction,
through its trails it is hard to find the right course.
I only know my heart expected nobody,
and suddenly you became his company,
taking away life and death,
returning it to new magnificence;
within me a forest: homeless beast of prey,
flocks of birds from lightning hurried away;
my shelter will fall apart,
in case you failed to find your home inside.
I only know that with your pliant curves
mine is familiar almost forever,
with my head nesting on your breast,
in front of you, no shame, I often wept,
I hide nothing from you and you proceed
intimately on my wild Tibetan field,
or star-seeking eyes hanging on the night-sky.
Shattered nerve, this bad owl finds the calm,
blue taper of your eyes; little lady,
cuddling against your knees the dog
of sensuality is falling asleep;
and the King of Light, the eternal soul is
still silent inside, may not know your lovely
name and is not judging,
thus, in red mantle, in love, he is waiting.
Translated by: Maria Bencsath