Life, in itself, is a Faustian Bargain.
We, like Adam, trade Innocence for Information.
We, like Cyrano, trade Harmony for Progress.
We trade Essence of Existince for Concrete Form, got tired of the latter, and then trade it back.
We look attentively at the moment Sin prevails over Purity.
We laugh over it.
We trade our prototypical happiness over the uncertain contingency of pain.
We always end up at intersections and choose the least safe path.
We'll continually wait for the flourish of the poison trees, and wait for the fruits to fall on our laps.
A Faustian Bargain, a necessary loss, our lives are.
A sequence of prototypes that is chosen to define who we are.
A pact with the devil, the horrendous wonder, unraveling miracles only to those who bear witness to its immaculate definition.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem