The surface of the lake
was bruised
with a darkness
that could not have been borrowed.
It was a patch of tense
turbulent essence,
emerging from the common ripples.
It was a particularly indecent
display of profundity,
being a nude example of universe.
The days where speed makes a string
uncoiling in a vacuum
enveloped by place.
It was strange
that no cloud
gravitated toward the opening phenomena.
It was then that I began thinking
of death;
to no longer locate myself
in the affairs that confuse.
Great poem, Pablo, especially gratifying when it was penned by a fellow countryman. Please submit more of your works. Greetings from Costa Rica... Rod
this poem is very close to what I'm feeling. Thank you very much.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and instead make sense by your senses when was the last time you were free touching the rough cat's tongue, says Chuck Taylor