I like the evening after Christmas Eve,
When all sort of expectations that pressure anyone’s mind,
Whatever plans they made or dismissed,
Suddenly give way to the most timeless and peaceful night hours
We’ve had for months.
Then we can celebrate not having to show anything
More than respect and love for each other.
Out of any previous tension, longing, and suffering.
Then we could both, or willingly alone,
Or rejoining together,
Fall into an endless winter sleep,
Protected by the harmony of our deep nature,
Secured by the frame of this perfectly non-special evening.
It’s the modest eve,
Now we’re past the big one.
And we might even feel like those children,
Always a bit blue when Christmas gone.
But it’s such pure relief in truth
That our love is beyond complete,
And our bodies shape the most pleasant embrace
We could have dreamed of.
It’s the following night,
Few steps later.
As we gracefully surrender
To the simple joy of being at ease,
Free from the last and next oppression,
From the reign of urgency,
From another case of « do or disappear ».
It’s the evening after Christmas Eve,
And I know it will be gone as well.
And maybe sooner than I wish this year.
But for now let’s pretend
We’ve been touched by magic,
By an unknown blessing,
And we’ll dream the same dream
In a bed of good fortune.