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AN EASTERN SONG - 1

A dozen moons upon my oriflamme,
And hard my mail, and heavy is my sword.
A knight-phantasm, knight errant as I am,
Astride in green as a weed-infested dam
Terrains, I feel the haze around me jam
My horse's eyes and mine in one accord.
I follow an invisible pathway,
Ears open to the skies and thick array
Of leaves –  but in all probability,
The heavens won't say anything to me
And the jungle won't say anything to me.

      And only seldom a beast will run by,
      lurking far aside, stepping lightly about,
      trying to protect
      from the small thorny plants on the way
      an old laceration...

My steed courageous, light of wing and fell,
Is young –  and hence, vitality and force.
He better hears whatever trees may tell
Around, and every savory new smell
Makes sense to him a hundred times as well
As me.  But I, transparent as the horse,
Too am a myth, although not nearly so
Impetuous as this prancer full of go
And youth –  and as of yet unconscious
That the heavens won't say anything to us
And the jungle won't say anything to us.

      And only seldom a bird will appear,
      flying off to the faraway dark-laden bush,
      to the selfsame backwoods where I,
      however long wandering,
      shan't ever get to...

And in that bush, unharmed by any folk – 
A sleepless cot, where far from any road
A maid-phantasm transparent as-a smoke
Stays nights awake beneath a weedy cloak,
Whereas a damp wind and a dry wood voc-
alize above her witherless abode.
She is awake.  The wood goes on to make
More doleful sounds, while she is wide awake
And weeping –  for with all the murmurmur,
The heavens won't say anything to her
And the jungle won't say anything to her.

      And only seldom a thunder will join
      those two in singing above her roof,
      for the whole of continent
      promising March full of rains
      and heat in the summer...