from secrets of the labyrinths of the heart
upon a thread of your own goings
springs forth these poems of remorse...
as i write this, i crave to understand who i am,
where i come from and where i must be going...
at the end of the line there is always a pause
there is meaning there, there is really, but which
i still want to know....
the confusions are like fur, some distracting hair,
long and tangled, wanting me to unlock what puzzles
are there....
i would be lying if i do not know about this and that,
but simply to whom shall i tell that?
the labyrinths are mine alone and i have become another
godly goat, my horns are powers, but you must never see them,
for i am still my own man, with a beard and thick hair,
and strong hands, and tall built and sharp eyes....
at the end of this line is a pause...i am resting.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem