Good evening,
My old friend silence.
I have returned from revisiting
A faded song, long gone
That haunted sleepers in their dreams.
Its echoes in the brain
Lingered incessantly
Within a life of nothingness.
In astral travel, I have soared
Through blinding black clouds
From where the dead metropolis
Underneath was all but an illusion.
My frozen hands caved in my pockets;
Bleeding ears, pierced by quietness
That crucified the stars
In a universe of emptiness.
Living in this city of a million hearts,
I have never heard a beat.
People are filling holograms
With holograms,
Praying to the muted God they made.
No one dares to put substance
In a panorama of blankness.
The gospels of their Messiah are
Tattooed on their skin,
And sprayed as graffiti on walls
Let me try to make a difference.
Let not the creation of my hands,
Like lost constellations, disappear
Down in the black hole of space.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem