Men are desires, Women are secrets
Men are desires, untold stories,
Women are secrets, adorned in dreams,
Two different universes, searching for each other in the night,
Traversing each other's mystery, bewitched and hunters in a subtle chase.
They are the kings of the unknown, which they uncover step by step,
Architects of silences that shelter the world's secrets,
While they, weavers of dreams plated with gold and pure scent,
Find in the closed eye of longing, unnamed paradises.
The body can forget shapes and kisses, forget caresses,
Leaves behind skin echoes, outlines that fade away,
But the soul always retains the scent of true love,
Remembers the shiver of the first love, does not surrender those cherished to oblivion.
It knows and celebrates the storm of bygone times,
Reminisces under the starlight of passionate embraces,
Love is a spectrum that does not age, nor does it set,
It stays deeply crusted in corners of the soul, that cannot be erased.
Such is the tangle between body and soul, between memory and dreaming,
Men weave their desires into the map of great secrets,
Women pack their secrets in the garment of desire, of waiting,
And in this ethereal dance, poems are written endlessly, forever incomplete.
Because the body can forget, it may move on,
But the soul preserves love like a shining star,
It never forgets whom it has loved, it keeps them close, does not recede,
And in dreams and in silence, it forever bears them, through days and nights of searching.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem