The Young Martyr

I remember
 Your heavenly face underwater
 Admiring its whiteness
 Under the moon rays
 And the life going out
 Of your magnificent wounds
 Wraps up of red your naked flesh
 On your pearly nails, the subdued light
 Gleam under water in a deep silence
 And your veins, in a complexe network
 Draw on your skin tree roots
 You who sleep for ever
 In your cold shroud
 Shall the disgrace fall on
 Your holy misfortune
 Which sentences for its crime
 Your suicided spirit
 And puts on its face
 An accusing appearance
 You, who sleep for ever
 In your cold shroud
 Shall the disgrace fall on
 Your holy misfortune
 Your dark hair, as an oil slick
 Stays on the surface, refusing to sink
 It tries to make believe of a last hope
 It dances on the waves, unlifed, unlifed