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No one tells you you’re beautiful. And yet you are beautiful. You’re beautiful
like a shadow that skims the sea, like a cloud licked by the sea. And you’re
alone like the moon when the clouds prevent her from being mirrored by the sea,
like a gust of wind that makes the sea thrilling for a too short instant. And
you’re strong like the rocks that beat off the attack of the waves, like the
waves that would always attack those rocks. Men don’t tell you you’re beautiful
because they’re scared by your strength. Men tell you words which sound like the
water of a pond when a pebble is thrown in it, for fun. You don’t listen to men
words. You listen to the rocks that overthrow the waves and to the waves that
would always lift up the head again and with your harp you play a music which is
an hymn to your beauty. A gust of wind will carry this music to the sleeping
men: they’ll feel a slight thrill and they’ll dream of a woman who is beautiful
like a shadow that skims the sea, like a cloud licked by the sea. |
