The Union | final version

The one who came from the One
All the beings greeted him
And each deviated from the Detached
They put on him an eye
Of magic bird in the tears of beryl
The other one closed, carried the mourning
Of The thousand one embodiments Fragments of scattered lives
Under the yoke of nations
But it refuses to be docile
Other one of the One, the solitary person
Even if its existence seems bitter
To knot the secret thread, the hyphen
Between the paradise and the hell
On its fist the bird of Beryl
Of a skilful beating
Lands gently
Bringing the subtle messages
To the colours of the wind and the leaves
Painting the everyday life of the men
And it, the inaccessible, at the beginning of the house of the One
Without a word, without a glance
In the set of the crowds and the fate
Drinks the drug of what happens
Thoughts and embellish with images which we remember
Only too late
When the guard of the knowledge
Closes the seal of the fate
A set, the unconsciousness
Get lost the human beings