Life strikes me with the precision of a bullet
with whom to share the old wine
with whom to share the last breath
only the fertile soil feeds on my blood
here I am with my nerves stretch from one loneliness to another
an immense wound of fluid snowfalls
I live in a clear seed of the elements
like a moribund embracing a leaf
I have the strength the pride
riding my unsaddled black horse
to continue the solitary journey
through the negative of the existence
along the lit pyres my knees
will never bleed again
I go against the flow and ebb
melting with my heart icing stars
and leave behind burned bridges
have I got the composition the tenderness the tolerance
to forgive the betrayals the infatuations the dualities
to wash your hands with my tears
to transform my white blood cells in compact snowfalls
to voluntarily give up the ocean of glass
of my self-imposed exile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a top quality poem and I shall put it in my list of favourites.