Vista la Cappa porpora bruciata
dalla fiaccola del Mare uguale
e stufo della Corona che porto,
e con essa la prigionia, mi dissi:

or ora ** deciso:
lascerò alle fiere le mie stanche carni
ed alla tempesta i Lumi,
conservando avidamente
solo l'impura fiamma che strazia urlò:
"è l'ignoranza che porta al trono",


o almeno così avrei fatto se la mente
fosse timone dell'anima e il cuore
ridotto da un re assoluto ed invisibile
ad un ratto senza denti e ossa.

///

Having seen the purple Cape burned
by the torch of the equal Sea
and tired of the Crown that I wear,
and with it the captivity, I said to myself:

now I have decided:
I will leave my tired flesh to the beasts
and the Lights to the storm,
greedily preserving
only the impure flame that tears he shouted:
"it is ignorance that leads to the throne",

or at least I would have done so if the mind
were the rudder of the soul and the heart
reduced by an absolute and invisible king
to a rat without teeth and bones.

Dewdrops, like lovers
Kiss upon the naked grass;
The storm is finished.

A broken verse claps across the expanse,
The sky darkens as anger swallows light.
A cold breeze caresses my skin like a cold shoulder,
Snarky whispers, wise yet harsh chill
Wisdom-filled words that pierce my breath.
I run to escape the scorching light,
Immolating sinners while angels weep.
To create anew from the ashes,
I mold clay, abashed by my creation.

There comes a hush with grumbling, rumbling sound—
Through skies, from highest clouds of charcoal gray,
While forest drapes like maiden's debut gown,
On swelling winds—a taste of dampened hay,
As jasmines shiver, full of haste and play,
The buttercups then blend in bluebell fields,
While parched earth, in thirst, to heavens pray,
The water lilies bloom, and lotus shield,  
While gardenia and tuberose nectar yield.

Those armored hermits peek above, so sly,
While wrigglers writhe from homes beneath the ground,
And quiet buzzards—silent shelters seek,
The red and tiny soldiers surround
Their hill before the floods come crashing down.
There goes the sun to hide behind the clouds,
Like shyest child behind her mother's gown.
The clouds eclipse the sky like mountain's shroud,
How I have waited long—for petrichor, thy crown!

The first then falls—so delicate this drop,
Like chiming choir of creation, its fall,
So, earth then sighs its prayer in backdrop.
Like divine dance of Lord from heaven's ball,
To fill the world as seraph's colours, fall.
The peacocks twirl in iridescent trance,
While swallows dive and egrets skim and roll.
Like scattered jewels, shooting down to prance,
The first of vernal rain bestows a second chance.

At drip-a-drop they form a symphony—
Like rolling sheets of highest paradise
Conjoined the deepest hells invisibly.
For once, then twice, and lastly falling thrice
In festive thrum of fervent drums, they rise.
Like sapphires falling down from onyx sheets
Of darkened skies, so measureless in price.
The merchant clouds to earthly rivers greet
And ply the blue and pearly wares from angel's fleet

Like clouds, the puddles spread across the land,
The sky's reflection cast upon the earth,
These puddles overflow as bubbling bands
And streams like argent ribbons, gurgling mirth
That stitch themselves from flash of thunder's lurch,
Like melting hymns upon the mount and vales,
And washing tales from stones about the dearth.
Then sleeping beasts so churn across the dales,
Like witches' inky cauldron full of silent wails.