You, my closest neighbour,
You exceed my liveliest hope,
You are present to me as if it were myself.
I’d like to give you the fine fruits of my orchard,
The luxuriant flowers from my garden,
The song of the blue tits that adorns the blue morning sky,
The house of my grandparents,
The ethereal country home of my childhood.
You preside over this day,
Part of the dynasty of love.
The sumptuous citadel
Where the scrolls are kept
Of all the hymns exalting Life!
Even without seeing you, I recognise your breath,
You who are the circle of taciturn knowledge,
The elegant line joining
Heart with heart!
I mould my face to yours,
I surround your name with balm,
I close over your words
Like a flower closes in on itself.
For,
Within the weaving
Of great new beginnings,
You, my impalpable cousin, are
The long road of the soul
Which ends in the soul itself!
Translated from the French of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy by Norton Hodges
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