The Magnet of the Soul
A wave of your soul
was burned by thirst,
and that fire
turned the sky blue.
I have turned into a stone
that waits for the next wave,
to wash away the passion
or the passion to wash me away.
In the mirror of time
you embroider the blue.
From my stone,
a violet water drop,
and the blue blood
you mention so many times,
I feel
how it drips among the arteries.
That blueness
settles beneath the skin;
the heart drowns in the lake.
In seven springs
that rise from the same rock,
my soul whispers your name.
And your sky
remained just a cloud,
a magic of your eyes,
a mirror.
My soul – magnet
that draws you near,
your soul-magnet
that only repels me.
