The thirsty man sees a water pond in the middle of the desert, he knows that's not real, but he keeps going just in case it is.
One day someone will pass by and look at the sun bleached white bones and wonder what kind of desire moved that now forgotten man to pursue it to the very end.

I want that mirage with all my heart but,
walking towards her don’t get me near
although my eyes can see the beacon
of her hair, burning, making all so clear,
and yet, like all mirages so far away that
like a gossamer dream she will disappear.

Heart, a captive slave without the chains,
but pierced not by an arrow, by a spear,
that opened a wound that will no close up,
being inside the trembling flesh so deep,
and desperate eyes following those flames
getting away through so many bitter tears.

My darling, even if you are just an illusion
your sweet voice in all the breezes I can hear,
and like those lullabies which I never had
I feel inside me many joys and not a fear,
but I cannot forget for one single moment
that we are in the world of a cruel puppeteer.

I want that mirage to reach touching my hand
and that for the grace of the gods, those lips,
come and kiss me just once a furtive one, and
look into my eyes without twilight regrets,
not, from a fleeing instant, only a mirage, but
a red flame, singing with a moth a final duet.