My writing is the result of uncertain subjectivity
I write in a parentheses
in the thirsty world of a multitude without voice.
I am not the one who speaks
no one who write this is me.
So there lost letters
of the collective echo
comes and fits in
without even aspire to them.
What difference does it make!
If this song does not tire.
if the nightmare rides in the darkness,
if i awaken to the light wrapped in the shroud of the dream,
a sleepwalken who repeats verses without me,
In the crossroad where the worlds meet
searching in the poem my place, my forhead, my hands.
Knowing the verse no one will says me,
I won't find my mirror encode.
This melody is lost constucting time
before advance towards the unspeakable,
to the course where the reason ends,
borning to the abysmal sea of consciusness.
Trad. Ambar Past.