Every time a thought is born
I am born
When the thought is gone
I am gone -
No permanent entity in me
But my thought.
What I look for
Does not exists:
The beatific vision
Of my radical transformation
Is the bewitching state
Of my conjured phrases.
My natural state
Is to escape
The enchanted ground
Of illusory senses
And silently express
My own true humanity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem