To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.
What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?
Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything into turn with obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
Bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.
Age is abating, abattoir is empty. [...] I am afraid the flames will engulf, the genius of pathways. ....| well said, keep on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Leaning insouciantly against the wall of the corner drugstore, the fire of a wooden match inhaled. The heat fills the lungs with an excitement that remains for others to diagnose. Slide one hand languorously into the hide of a dead cow.