The saddest poem in the world

I’ve learned how to make your portrait blindfolded.
I perfectly know the distance between your nose and your ears, between your chin and your forehead,
The contour of your lips, the height of your cheeks.

I know each line that every wince draws on your flesh.
I know the waves sculpted on your lips by melancholy
I know the frown of the eyebrows that you appeal to in crisis of inspiration
I know your harassed sight, that lost animal look.
I can read the hunger and the wait in your eyes. I can guess the nostalgia or the fatigue in the stance of your shoulders.
I can see the patience or the recklessness in your skin’s tones.


I’ve learned to make your portrait blindfolded because one day I could go blind.
Or you could turn into who knows what jumbo so that I won’t be able to recognize you.
Or it is simply possible that I’ll stop seeing your smile in the corner of your lips
And your forehead’s wrinkles in your forehead’s wrinkles

You are so beautiful with your deep dark spots under the eyes, with the lips chipped by nymphs’ kisses
With the cheeks sculpted by the northern winds!
You’re so beautiful with your skinny arms, with your waddle
With your pale chest haunted by the moon!

I’ve learned how to make your portrait blindfolded
One day your marvelous dark circles will turn too dark
Your lips will melt out or slowly disappear just like everything disappears: the hours, the seasons, the astonishment, the first dance, the first drunkenness
Your chin will fall apart, your eyelids will dry out and clouds will be born from their shadows
White wild flowers will grow from what used to be your temples
Your frowns will be swallowed by the hoot of the storms
Coveys of sparrows will burst out from your former sights
The rustle of your gestures will become one with the sough of the falling leaves in the bright autumn mornings.

I’ve learned how to make your portrait blindfolded.
If I don’t come to know your face by heart I have nothing else left but to make peace with the thought that I’m losing you bit by bit
That you are fading away
That you are vanishing like fog or unfolding like a yarn
That you are crumbling
And I cannot make peace with such things

Promise me there is a soul out there and teach me how to draw it
Tell me there is continuity… something immutable, something that time cannot touch and destroy
Tell me we have a single true face, only one
Lie to me

Otherwise I cannot endure your beauty
I cannot stand it
I cannot deal with it
There’s too much cruelty in its existence in a world that is essentially horrible.

And I am not even able to write about this.

I can write but cynical lyrics
And your beauty is a tragic poem

The saddest poem in the world.



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