In the desert

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In the desert
I rack my brains
while the ideas escape
to the desired illumination
In the guitar the strings
seem to go on the run, to go on holiday;
they don't want to peek into the song
The clarity gradually dims
until it turns into gloom
Neither the pencil nor the slate cooperate:
the pencil scribbles nothing
and the slate expects nothing from him.
The laziness of the former is beaten
with the indifference of the slate.
Everything, everything conspires
to lead me to the desert
In vain I think I keep on racking my brains
I feel, I know I feel, for you I feel...
but I can't find a way to say
what I feel, what I feel for you
But, oh hallelujah!
Like Hosea in my desert
a voice whispers to me:
do not write to her
draw her into your desert
and make her fall in love
speak to her heart
Don't write to her,
just love her