Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take away the air, but
do not take your laughter from me.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance-flower you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born within you.

My struggle is hard, and I return
with tired eyes,
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters,
it rises to the sky in search of me
and opens for me
all the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest hour
your laughter opens,
and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Beside the sea in autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foaming cascade,
and in spring, my love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,

but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,

but never your laughter,
for I would die.