“You speak the same language as Distance,
The Language of ache and that of hunger
I lay here forgotten, forsaken
Shivering in the wake of my Past, wallowing in sweet Slumber.
Love consumes me like the burning flame of a candle,
I grieve in your Longing, my desire too agonizing to be handled
Your separation inflamed my wound, Love,
Deserted my Heart and left it in shambles.
Distance! Distance! You wretched Conception,
Stop gorging on me and devouring my anticipation
Just as a child stands in need of its mother in times of blooming and Maturation
I pine for your intimacy, your Love and adoration.
Have you seen the Moon in her full glory?
Glistering in the darkness; maddening her haters and admirers apart…
She tunes from the vault of Heaven, the ebb and flow of the Tides;
You orchestrate from the middle of nowhere, the strings of my broken Heart.
Such is my sorrow, such is my misery, for,
The Moon, being so distant, shines on her admirers, proving her steadfastness
And you, Dearest, neither steal a fleeting glance at me,
Nor ease the bearing of my life; it seems distantly ajar.”