I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry; poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love

I will lead a man to dear one --I don't want the little joy --And I'll quietly lay to sleepThe glad, tired little boy.In a chilly room once moreI will pray to Mother of God,It is hard to be a hermit,To be happy is also hard.Only fiery sleep will come to me,I'll enter a temple on the hill,Five-domed, white, and stone-hewn,On the paths remembered well.

True love's memory, You are heavy!In your smoke I sing and burn,And the rest -- is only fireTo keep the chilled soul warm.To keep warm the sated body,They need my tears for thisDid I for this sing your song, God?Did I take part of love for this?Let me drink of such a poison,That I would be deaf and dumb,And my unglorious gloryWash away to the final crumb.

The first ray -- as the blessing of the Lord --Across the face of the beloved did creep,Who, sleeping, went a little pale,And then again more tightly went to sleep.It seemed that warmth of ray of sunAppeared to him just like a kiss.And long with these my lips I have not touchedThe tan strong shoulder or the dear lips.And now, the deceased spirits in my longDisconsolate wandering along the way,I am now flying toward him as a songAnd I caress him with a morning ray.

I have ceased and desisted from smilingThe frosty wind chills lips - say so longTo one hope of which will be lesser,Instead there will be one more song.And this song, without my volition,I will give out for laughter and parable,For this that the silence of loveIs to me simply unbearable.