After the basil's fragrance,
You became more delicate than light.
Your eyes became stars,
And your lips were colored by twilight.
And the fragrance from you, my love,
Has permeated every nostril.
But your heart is cold,
Without pulse or sparkle.
You walk beside me like a rock,
Is my heart made of paper?
And I, poor in love,
A fire of insomnia consumes me.
No, I will not accept defeat.
I will win this race.
**
