If I could just vanish this overwhelming sensation,
this thought that fogs my mind. A polycephalous demon
that is eating me inside out.
exhausted of fighting for survival every day
I'm certainly not dying
easily granting him the honor of my bloodstain.
Where is that Cerberus that refuses to show his face to me
but grinds ruthlessly my backbone?
Release my feet from your reticent shackle.
Let me grow apart from your keen tooth
and into the woods of endless reasons
allow my mind to elope while my wounded wings dangle.
(ilustración by William Blake)
1 comentario:
“Mire vuestra merced -respondió Sancho- que aquellos que allí se parecen no son gigantes, sino molinos de viento, y lo que en ellos parecen brazos son las aspas, que, volteadas del viento, hacen andar la piedra del molino.”
Publicar un comentario