the soul that is restless
wants to stop and say everything
sort of
last confession before it finally
ends its journey
but it cannot stop for now
it is taken by this disease of obsessive-compulsion
propulsion
like a meteor into space
not having met the wall of space that must
explode it
and scatter it into pieces
of nothingness
it is a wind without a break
not into a placid worship
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem