Nocturne

Silence of the night, sorrowful nighttime
silence . . . Why does my soul tremble this way?
I hear the humming of my blood,
a gentle storm passes by inside my skull.
Insomnia! To be unable to sleep, and yet
to keep dreaming. To be the self-subject
of spiritual dissection, the self-Hamlet!
To diffuse my sadness
into a night wine
in the miraculous crystal goblet of the darkness. . . .
And I ask myself: "At what hour will the dawn come?"
A door has closed. . . .
Someone has walked by outside. . . .
The clock has struck three. . . . What if it’s Death?!

-Ruben Dario