Murmuring water wake from the root of the pine to see the sparrows' eyes and bring back to life the waterless earth beneath with the scent of basil and the whistling lizard. You are dryness a naked vein under a terrible glance of wind is a silent spark in the shining wealth of stars. No one notices you no one stops to hear your breath but you with your heavy step with your proud nature will reach one day the leaves of the apricot tree you will go up into the lithe branches of the broom plant and you will roll from the eyes of a lover like a young moon. There is an immortal stone on which a humane mortal angel once wrote his name when he was passing and a song which no one yet knows neither the maddest children nor the wisest nightingale. It is locked up now in a cave of Mount Devi among the valleys and the ravines of my fatherland but when some day it opens and this angelic song bursts forth against decay and time instantly the rain will stop the mud will dry the snows will melt in the mountains the wind will cease the swallows will revive the willows will tremble and men with cold eyes and pale faces when they hear the bells ringing by themselves in the broken bell towers will find carnival hats to wear and tie gaudy ribbons on their shoes. Because no one will ever joke any more the blood in the streams will overflow the horses will snap their bridles from the mangers the straw will turn green in the in the stables on the roof tiles poppies and mayflowers willl spring anew and at all the crossroads they will light red fires at midnight. Then the fearful girls will come little by little to toss their last garments into the fire and completely bare will dance around it like the time when we were young and a window opened a flaming carnation at dawn in their breast.
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