Indignant by the shabby charm of the opium you gave me,
frankly, I’m seething and I’ll never forget
that one night, entranced, I swore I loved you,
more than my own soul and even my mother too.
You settled in the lair of this neighborhood poet
and I swear, even witty turned to keep you near,
the musings of my wandering muse came to an end,
for the most divine verse was carrying you in my heart.
In my lyrical nights,
through the sorrowful outskirts,
I rhymed tender madrigals
that I shed by your side.
I put life into every stanza,
my love, my peace, and fortune,
and the ineffable tenderness
of your woman’s soul.
How many nights in my shabby poet’s room
a discreet tear secretly fell,
I thought you would be the most intense verse of my life,
for the wound your departure caused still bleeds.
Now that you know the secret of how much I’ve suffered,
tell me who has loved you with more intense passion,
and from the depths of your soul, silent, cruel, and raw,
the biting naked truth will tell you: this man.