The land of my heart


The only land
is the land of my heart.
I enter it without passport
as if at home.
It sees my sadness
And my solitude.
It gives me sleep
And covers me in a fragrant stone.


There was a time when I had two heads.
There was a time when the doubled face
would be covered with amorous dew
and would melt like the scent of a rose

But now it seems
that even in retreating
I am always marching forward,
towards a high gate
beyond which stretch walls.
Behing which sleep extinct thunder
and broken lightening.

The only land is the land of my heart.



Marc Chagall