Letter XII

None knows my secret, yet I’m;
None but your Love.
None knows my secret, yet Ma’am;
Come lay my heart with thine.
For Loving you was mine,
of all the roles, I’ve had.
The sole role from above,
That was, simply, your Love.
One joy in a world so sad.
For all the Love I’ve loved.
No love I knew,
Like thine was true.
for all the lives, I’ve lived.
None was divine,
Like ours, like wine,
like an unquenched fire,
like a poem, like a song, like a hymn or a prayer.
For all the souls I’ve been.
Yours was enough, for both of us.
It was your Love, confining me, Thus;
Except for one, no more I sin,
If thou count your Love as one.
Let that — my secret — to you, be known.
O’me, my kindred soul, my own.

None knows my secret, yet I;
Still, will remember,
that night of deep December.
Before I’d pass you by,
Before I’d touch your soul;
In the winters of inexistence
Before all worlds were made
Before I learnt to breathe.
Or tasted Love or hate.
Before I learnt to walk
Before I learnt to talk
Before the seas, before the trees,
Before science could have disguised as the skies,
Before that thousand words of Love roving the distance between our eyes.
Before excesses and moderations,
Before trivialities & foundations,
Before addictions, Before restrictions,
Before the times of modern philosophies & each ancient mystic secret.
Still, that remains my secret;
That before creation, have I loved you
enough to heal you.
Yet enough to hurt you.
enough to stand by you.
Yet enough to desert you.
enough to please you.
enough to seize you.
Enough to pierce your soul deep.
Enough to put your heart to sleep.
I have loved you in all ways & all times.
In all tones & all notes & all words & all rhymes.
Enough to lose as much as gain.
Enough to unceasingly taste pain.
So, if thou love me unknowingly,
let me pass you by.
Let me tell you what I need to.
Let me tell you that I need you.
That if Life may separate our souls;
Then eagerly I’ll die.
No more in death, our Love may wane.
So if thou love me, pray God may let me die.
For what Life may deny us, in death, we attain.
Let that — my secret —to you, be known.
O’me, my kindred soul, my own.
Until we meet,
with Love, with hope —forlorn…


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