Lying on the grass, gaping

With eyes fixed on the vast expanse

Overwhelmed by a thousand memories, O torment

About the times on which I loved without fears

 

After a few hours in that torture

I discovered a candid situation portrayed

And precipitating my mortal thoughts

I noticed that they were not going away

 

The memories that were evoked as rivers

Resting on the grass, now my devils

 

And in that agony that seemed perpetual

And dragged by the iniquitous irony

Lying on the grass, conspicuously

My remembrances did not let go

 

With the complicity of the vastness of the sky

Delivering my body to the ground without veil

The letters were dying laying on the floor

Killing the poetry it kept with zeal

 

And dying the strophes in my hand

Being able not to rescue them from the plane

They kept my thoughts on the plain

Where I placed my body on the grass in vain

 

Needless to say, death caught

With no remorse, it is truth, and died

The hurting letters died, broken heart

For those thoughts that gave reason…

 

To what was never an inpiration…

 

©Carlos di Paulo Zozaya