From our two closed mouths a new island would surge.
No vessel, no time would ever know of its ports,
The ocean of our flesh would dash against its shores -
An island that would be in innocence immerged,
Far beyond our kisses, far beyond our glance and
Where our distraught desire only could ever land,
Keen on teaching our nights which fire flares, which will merge,
Which song, a blaze alike, consumes two bare bodies,
So that on its own paths and with impunity
They may reach the peaceful, luminous ecstasy -
An island that from our two closed mouths would surge.
The gods who wrought the nights would hate our harmony.
Dilapidated shrines have proclaimed their decay.
Our stars illuminate heavens which longer stay.
Neither deftly scanned hymns, nor priests, nor pageantry
May erect for Amor so divine an abode,
As do sway of muscles, mysterious strength bestowed,
A burning blindness more lucid than are our eyes,
The greedy hand which grasps the other's hand, blindly
The cry - then on the berth, inert, vast and empty,
A silence unknown to the gods, the gods so wise.
The gods, the gods so wise, should they have existed,
Would have but clothed our bed with ignorance and night,
Removed challenging fire from our stillness, kept quiet
Lest they should have scared the wandering ecstasy.
We shall be able to invent a dashing world,
The dance of the bright stars whose conduct is twofold,
Fate and precise instant when one must wait or stand,
The secrete Paradise and Hell as fair as gold,
And though our Eden be envied by all those gods,
They wouldn't have dared to upset our deep quietude,
Those gods, those gods so wise, should they have existed.
Michel Galiana
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-isle/
