THE INEFFABLE

I die strangely... It is not life that kills me
It is not death that kills me, nor is it love;
I die of a thought, mute as a wound...
Have you never felt such a strange pain

Of an immense thought that is rooted in life,
Devouring flesh and soul, and without blooming?
Have you never carried inside a dormant star
That was burning you wholly without shining?

Height of martyrdom!... To eternally bear,
Rending and arid, the tragic seed
Pierced in one's entrails like a ferocious fang!...

But to uproot it one day in a flower that would bloom
Miraculous, inviolable!... Ah, it would not be greater
To hold in one's hands the head of God!