The breeze of understanding returns me to windward,
A subtle oblivion that does not let me move forward,
Leaving behind a waning nostalgia,
A desperate captain, a dull gaze,
deceived by the upside down wind.
Little Sirte, a port without end,
A voyage already aimless,
A deck without memory,
Stranded in the land of the lotophages.
Taciturn firefly, under the gray quilt of the firmament,
Alone on her journey, with no moon or stars to guide her.
With vain longing, and more sorrow than joy,
She stirs reasons to exist,
Even in the midst of blind darkness,
The fog is thicker than night.
The firefly would turn, but she has already forgotten her home,
Grief envelops it, like a vision in mourning.
The light abandons it, and with it all its folly.
In the twilight of your wounds, your smile hides your sorrow.
Your lost gaze searches for a secret porthole,
Waiting for a dazzling rider, who never arrives.
Only a shadowy embrace,
Bony hands laid forever,
On your stiff shoulders.
Life, an invisible burden,
In the heartbeat of the blind mendicant.
Time, a somersault into the abyss,
A brawl to survive despair.
The now, a wavering flame,
In the darkest eve of the soul.
Centuries and seconds melt in the twilight,
A funnel of restlessness traps us,
It's a mist that shrinks the spirit,
The body is a ship of confusion,
Sailing in a sea of sharp mirrors.
On this quiet November morning,
The sun sinks behind a blanket of heavy clouds,
Shhh! The wind mumbles a premonition of menace,
The song of the demented lady shakes my peace,
And my calm becomes an echo that instills dread.
My weary heart mutates into a swamp of ashes.
(*) Blanket: Manta, manto.
(*) Mumble: Murmurar, farfullar.
(*) Menace: Amenaza.
(*) Instill: Infundir, inculcar.
(*) Dread: Miedo, temor.
(*) Weary: Cansado, fatigado.
(*) Mutate into: Mutar en.
(*) Swamp: Pantano, barrizal. Inundar.
The gloom of the room clamors more loudly for its place,
And the din of silence creates a disturbing decor,
The scent of dreams becomes toxin,
The tired walls lose their color, they turn gray,
And the ceiling, a layer of shadows, accusations and doubts,
Enveloping the bedroom in a blizzard of guilt.
(*) Gloom: Pesimismo, penumbra.
(*) Clamor: (for + ing) Pedir a gritos por, clamar por.
(*) Enveloping: (v) (Envelop) Envolviendo.
(*) Blizzard: Ventisca.
The garden deforms into a labyrinth of darkness,
The plants twist in a discordant harmony,
The perfume of flowers mingles with the smell of decay,
And the song of the birds becomes a disturbing melody,
Light and clarity escape as darkness expands,
More than I can illuminate.
(*) Mingle: Mezclar (v) Mingling: Mezcla
(*) Decay: Deterioro, putrefacción (s)
The rain, a false friend, spreads along the meandering paths,
My footsteps glide gingerly through the damp grass,
The branches, like ghostly fingers, caress my face,
The mildewed and sticky air invades my lungs,
And the murmur of the forest creatures creates a twisted melody,
Beneath the silence of the scent of rain,
The warp of a circumscribed and oppressive life.
(*) Glide: Deslizar
(*) Gingerly: Cauteloso
(*) Caress: Acariciar
(*) Mildewed: Enmohecido (Mildew)
(*) Murmur: Murmullo
(*) Warp: Urdimbre, deformar, combarse
My moon, a blinding crystal-eyed gaze,
Its rays reflect the ominous scene,
Time, a perfidious enigma, advances silent and crestfallen,
And the stars stare like impassive witnesses,
In a fragile and uncomfortable immensity,
Nature's blind composer creates a shuddering melody.
In the face of despotic solitude, the heart beats with a somber rhythm,
A dark whisper in the mind,
Shadows and fear grow in the guts,
Like a plague before the walls of the soul.
Before the antipathy of the night,
The tedious doubt reassembles,
And the soul hides in melancholy,
In a cell of silences, noise.
In the gloomy lagoon of our eyes, a crescent moon shines.
The rivers of the soul overflow, and their showers of sorrow water the mind.
And the sea, where we sail, is a well of despair,
and our search for meaning is a bell that rings at the end.
The waves of lies rise and fall with a bang,
and the autumnal vessel sinks in the tide.
Silent hovers over us, and suffering loosens our soul.
Illusion is a shadow play, and hope a distant home.
Madness whispers from the cracks, and truth spills from the walls.
Our thoughts, echoes of storm, stir and rebel.
And destiny moves like the mouse inside the heart.
We sail without din in a sea of lies,
and our moldy ships, covered with broken mirrors,
distort the truth, and transfuse us into forgotten ghosts.
Our hearts fly like empty bags,
hope becomes a dagger without a handle.
But, it stopped hurting.
 |
Truth is a newt in a sea of mirages,
reality is a drowned fear on a wet shore,
the oceans are a phantasmagoric dance of sordidness,
and we, its illusive navigators, circumnavigate without desire.
colorless time slips its slow song,
and the poetry of nature is muffled and deaf.
In an aged forest of shadows and faded tones,
nature, faded and autumnal, curls up to die.
The passing of November flies over with a silent hiss,
like a dark and sad sonnet, a melody in the emptiness of my being.
In the labyrinth of my mind, darkness and light intermingle. The past is a shadow, the present a battle. But on the horizon shines a light...
