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« But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping : and
as she wept, she stooped down and
looked into the sepulchre and seeth two angels in white sitting, the one
at the head, and the
other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. And they say unto
her, Woman, why
weepest thou?”
John XX 11-13
The incessant blue skies beating down,
the Holy Book inside the spirit,
my heart, my sacred love and the sea,
my soul living gloriously in the moment,
my tears which have sighted eternity and want to gasp it!
And this feverishness of pure plenitude
in the chalice of the Life that can’t be broken!
It is thus that speak, in there absolute exaltation,
the Church Fathers,
the high mystics of the Christian faith -
armillary astrolabes of divine splendour,
their pupils impervious to the seduction of death!
Easter!
And this poignant ball of flame in my throat
and this infinite solitude of my bloodless room
and this secret despair which covers with frozen snow
the burgeoning buds of spring!
Silence, this master of a vast audience,
is conniving with violet fear and grief,
to dress the seraphic ardour of my hand
with wilted flowers and funeral satin.
But, O my soul what is there for me in the end?
Now that Time is indifferent
and man passes man on the way to death,
now that other bodies outlive his body,
now that the waters of my heart shows me,
at the heart of water, the most dazzling of living stars?
And you, what will you do, angels dressed in white
in the tomb empty of meaning
about the meaning which flees my words?
Easter!
And this burning sadness in my veins!
No! Let my eager lips smile,
as I climb the universal bright ladder,
my lips, where the unloosed sound of so many repeating dreams
and the immortal light of so much hope
flows with the light of so many faces loved with passion!
Lord! Why this sadness
at the feet of the breaking day?
Why this fluttering in the small sweet branches
of my blood? This tears,
this vague grief tirelessly knocking against
my innocent temples?
Lord!
Say nothing,
Lord,
let your goodness flow beyond syllables!
Say nothing!
I understand all you want reveal,
all that your eyes are striving to say
beyond sound and word!
Why this tears that won’t let me pass through
on this day of perpetual joy?
Why?
Come, O breeze, stroke my face
with your consoling hand!
Come, faint murmur of smiling souls
climb onto my suffocating breast!
Golden whispering of daisies
around the well
on this day beyond conception!
My soul,
Christ has risen!
He has risen indeed,
O my soul!
Nouakchott, Easter Day, 20 April 2003, 9 p.m.
Translated by Norton Hodges
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