Each man has to raise the desires within him,
To fight over something with a deformed friend
To Bring a new incubus to the lives of those
Who have never seen Misadventure's mastery
Wetted roads and tens of shattered lamps
Grey clouds with millions of rain drops
At an old window which has tiny cracks
And a swinging shade in the hangman's loop
But who is there, nothing but the cruel wind
Which moves the tight locks, trying to get in
As the coldish and the warm winds take turns
Searching for warmth in the shade's embrace
Bored by the ravens which have no place to go
But daring to fly, cawing to reach the skies
And the sands which intrude on its motion
Trying to defy by creaking to scar the eyes
From the tree of knowledge of
Good and evil and life's death
We can evolve that all of man kind
Spread out an obsolete truth
The imaginary Utopia, that no place
Shines inside the heart of the night
As the Dystopia hides in an attempt
Of getting well known to each other
-'I will befriend thee till the end of time',
-'Don't be, till thee find a way to your final silhouette'
-'With thee, I am me, a deformed anarchist,
And I'm aghast from all what you don't dare to say'
-'Don't be, for thee will be the deuteragonist,
But we hallucinate what descends from the other day'
In the absence of the sense of danger
Or the scent of eeriness as it should be,
The ultimate imagination will slowly age
As it silently fade away like those windows
Is it real, the one who trod a path,
Can tell the one who's at the start,
-'Just bring your mirror with you,
You're going to miss your old face'
While his howl starts to throb,
Sneers those who swallowed that trap,
Yet it is as sweet as honey
Caressing kisses on his white throat,
And the mischievous effluvium
Of his loathsome breath
Comes out and the scream is:
'These jaws will turn over you'
And the imaginary hollow tree
Will take the shape of humans
Waiting undead for the right time
For the cycle of putrefaction
That Devious Tragic Villain
Does not want to be born
Incessantly echo for another time
And that's what I name 'Perfection'
We are these cracks on every wall
And the varnish in every window
We only survive a short life
Then we all will fall to the ground
We are the howling of the wind
When it hit the sands on its way
But we are not like these skies
We cry when we feel we have to
Gaze long enough into yourself
And search where the wonders are
But you will never understand
Why and what we are built to be
February 16,2011,3: 08 AM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem