Hello my dear Niloufar, today I write to you my first letter from Madrid, so far and yet so near you. We've known for some time and I must apologize for not having found time to write up today, but today finally fulfill the promise that one day I made you.

There is so much that I have to tell, so many anecdotes that happened to me I don’t know where to start, you know that life is capricious, sometimes brings you moments of happiness and sometimes sadness, but one day I took a promise myself to remember only the good times.

That is why, my dear Niloufar, my letters just show you the cheerful and happy side of me, as the sad and melancholy side could not show you even if I wanted, because I've always been faithful to my promises.

But despite my promise, I will not deprive you of my melancholic side because all the letters I sent you since today will end with one of my poems and you know that when I write a poem, I connect my hands directly to my heart, ignoring thought.

My beautiful Niloufar, forget us now poetry and melancholy and talk about happiness, joy I felt the day on which the fate joined our ways, don’t you know what that day I was the happiest man under the stars?

Here's Niloufar, do not think a day goes by without my thinking of you, I remember every day that purity of thought that characterizes you, your intelligence, your kindness and understanding. The day I met an angel descended from heaven to cross our paths, I so far from you and you so far from me, that angel made possible the miracle of two shooting stars collide and light up the sky with its brightness.

I knew that heaven had given me what I had so longed for, the muse I never had, my inspiration which I cannot quench my thirst for drink forever, yes Niloufar, you're the creator of my prose and my verses, which lights my way when I'm lost, coming to my rescue in the middle of my dreams.


«You are my inspiration»
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Oh, my sun, I love your words of encouragement,
you, my muse overseas,
my faithful friend, my air and my breath.

Inspiring of my pen
guiding me battered roads
oh, my flower, I love you so much I love you,
until it hurts the soul of this uncertain love,
because without you I would be, as the cup without wine,
as the dry creek, as a procession without crying,
Oh my life!, like the moon without sun,
as a fiddle without singing,
the mountains with no wind.

Oh love, love you and love you so much,
is that for your love I die,
my soul dies for you,
while my heart wanders sad and lonely,
aimlessly, live, live suffering.

Without you, my dear, I without you,
would be a sad parchment
without pen or weight.
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