When you hadn’t come, everything was as it still is:
The sky at the horizon, the road stretching ahead, the wineglass, the wineglass.
But now, the wineglass, the road, and the sky’s hue—
They’ve all changed, as has the color of my heart, until it becomes the blood of my soul.

Sometimes, it’s the yellow shade of the joy of sight,
Other times, it’s the grey tone of weary moments.
The color of dry leaves, thorns and weeds,
The red of blazing flowers in a garden,
The color of poison, or the bloodied hue of the darkest night.

The sky, the road, and the wineglass—
Everything has shifted, like a soaked garment or a throbbing vein,
Like a mirror that changes its reflection every moment.

Now that you are here, stay a while, so that one color, one season, one thing—
May stand still, even just for a moment.
So that once again, everything can become just as it was:
The sky at the horizon, the road stretching ahead, the wineglass, the wineglass.