You Whose Hands Are More Innocent Than Mine

You whose hands are more innocent than mine
and who removes slow shadows of doubts
from his face
like spring wind removes
shadows of clouds floating over the hill.

If your hug is encouraging the heart
and your thighs stop the pain,
if your name gives peace
to his thoughts, and your throat
a shade to his berth
and the night of your voice, an orchard
still untouched by storms.

Then stay beside him
and be more devoted than anyone else
that have loved him before you.

Fear the echo approaching
the innocent love nests.

And be gentle with his dream
bellow the invisible mountain
at the edge of soughing sea.

Walk around his coast. Be seen
by sorrowful dolphins.

Wander around his woods. Kind lizards
wont do you any harm.

And the thirsty snakes that I tamed
will be humble before you.

May the birds that I warmed up sing to you
in the nights of sharp frost.

May the boy that I protected from
stalkers on deserted road
caress you

May the flowers that I watered with your tears
bring fragrance to you.

I didn’t witness the best years
of his manhood. His fertility
I haven’t received in my bosom
ravaged with looks
from cattle drivers at fairs
and greedy thieves.

I will never take care
of his children. And the stories
that I’ve prepared for them long ago
I might tell, crying,
to little miserable bears
abandoned in black forest.

You whose hands are more innocent than mine
be gentle with his dream
that remained harmless.

But let me see him
his face when strange years
start to come down on it.

And tell me sometimes a thing or two about him
so that I don’t have to ask strangers
that think I’m silly, and neighbors
that pity my patience.

You whose hands are more innocent than mine,
stay beside his pillow
and be gentle with his dream!

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