I know you love me though you may not tell me,
I know that you hold me captive for always
in the powerful nets of your own life,
celestial censer of a perennial dream.
Though you may not say that without me you cant live,
my yearning tells me that its all true;
many sad flowers wreathe your forehead
when burdened you think of an awakening.
What am I to tell you? I look at you... and fall into silence.
My deep silences you already comprehend quite well.
The star transformed into flower in the distant sky
contemplates, unafraid, in the waters its shadow.
Let my sorrow on your chest repose,
like a weary traveling dove.
In the tepid shade of the tranquil orchard
let us delight in the gratifying caress of peace.
May repose be a song, a serenade,
while in the serene hour we baste
ripened dreams of times past
that fill with emanations our old souls.
Though you may not tell me that you think of me,
that all of me in your heart you keep,
I shall return to remembrance and finding you,
though you may not tell me, Ill know it is love.
(English translation: Edwin Agustín Lozada)
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