This ridiculous roulette:
A pirouette over flames
A dank acquiescence in
This time of cholera.
The chimes are frenzied
As they strike a rush of
Sinister absolution.
I jump outside the windows
Of my sanity,
Just to go back again
And sully myself
In this wretched sluice.
I am back
Behind this unquiet tremor
Of still photographs.
Behind the windowpanes,
Beside daggers and words
That metamorphose into a
Fan of knives
And a peal of hoarse cries
And no one
Could ever haul me
Out of this clandestine death-plot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem