My nipa hut...

Come to my castle, the fragile hut

that timidly hides behind a banana grove.

Enter with care, 'tis of nipa and bamboo,

but 'tis the sanctuary of my solitude.

Like the few that in the world have been sages,

fleeing from the world I have found this Eden 

that offers to my flesh the warmth of a nest

and to my soul, consolation, hope and faith.

Here I live the memory of my youth,

the birds, the sun, keep me company,

the breeze that feigns songs of praise

and the perfume of a dead illusion.

Rustic meoldy, that sounds at the hour

of the Angelus, closes, twilight;

it seems to pray, it seems to cry

beloved nostalgias for the time gone by.

The night that weeps the death of day

surprises me at times on the rough threshold,

savoring in sips the sweet ambrosia

of happy instants that shall not return.

On full moons I reach the woods

with imagination overflowing with dreams

and before the miraculous light that is the landscape

I feel very much like a boy, nearer to God.

Above is the heaven of the sun that encourages

the firm upheaval of universes,

and in their pilgrim splendor they tell me

of the great mysteries of eternity.

Confidante of my profound plaints

is the moon that bathes my garden with peace,

bringing to mind blessed memories

of those escapades of love in April.

Youth that I yearn! Poor mad illusion

that left in my soul scintillations of the sun;

honey and dew there were in your lips,

divine tenderness in your heart!

Beneath the green canopy of the coconut palms

happiness is slow, sorrow fleeting.

Here only the laws of honor prevail

and bastard desire disturbs not the chest.

Mute, saintly prayer rising to heaven,

the summit bejewelled by the Southern Cross,

is the blue mountain that feigns my yearning

for peace, serenity, and sublimeness.

When from the birds I listen to songs

at the radiant hour of dawn,

I think this world is not a vale of tears

and that existence is good supreme.

Oh city, lair of human wolves,

that nourishes and thrives on vile greed,

you are not worth the 

bird that serenades my plains,

not the humble rose that in my garden is.

Enter into my timid and fragile hut

that is lovingly built behind a banana grove.

My nipa hut, my bamboo hut

will give you a treasure: the native soul.