CLEOPATRA, THE LAST SPEECH

The islands are pure.
Movements and the grotesque begin further away,
on continents.
What splendour! What masks!
Later on there are pearls.
Here are figs, slave girls, baskets, the seven snakes.
Over there are my mother's deserts.
I have never bowed down before
the shows of form and custom.
No matter how often I am multiplied by empires, snails, chasms
I still remain alone and purple
- an illusion between the sea and the mirror.
Lilies are my content.
This is how far I have come to know the gods.     
This is my final mortal domain.
The light is high and austere.
I grow towards silver
                     barefoot.
I submerge in the dreams of algae.
Is that death travelling across the deep lands?
I just hope it won't pass me by. There are forty veils on me.
Not a single one inside me.
My skin is dark.