O silent
intruder of my dreams,
From where
do you hail?
Are you from
the babbling waters
Colliding
against the rough cliffs,
Or from the
densest greenery
That man has
ever beheld?
O silent
intruder of my dreams,
From where
do you hail?
Are you from
my native place,
Beside the
golden mountains?
Or from the shattered
huts of love,
Where man
thrives not?
O silent
intruder of my dreams,
How do you
live?
Do you live
by the music of the current
That buffets
against the silver shore?
Or do you
lie high in the trees,
Silhouetted
by the last sunset?
O silent
intruder of my dreams,
I bid you:
please free me.
Free me,
from the endless tangles
Of feelings
intertwined;
Free me,
from the trammels of life,
Which let
not my actions proclaim truth.
Free me,
from the barbed wires of memory,
That haunt
the lost mind on its journey.
Bound am I
by something unexplained—
From the
depths of mystery,
From fathoms
of complexity,
I strive for
it:
“The hill
that was close until you reached it.”
The days,
the nights, and the twilight—
And the
sunrise and me.
