When passion roars
in our bosoms
for riding on horseback
that breaks through fortresses
or mounting a cloud
to plant in its whiteness
the banners of madness
or ascending a star
to break in its space
the barriers of silence
it's alright to search for a myth
in whose folds we tuck
a few details that
make known our presence
that they may
give a couple of sparks
or light up a couple of candles
or add a couple of sentences
to the lines of our life, confined
between two moments of the spirit's manifestations
the moment of its rise
in a dumbfounded embryonic lump
and the moment of its convulsion
in a conquered heartbeat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem