This is the point from which I begin and end:
The cyclic pilgrimage to the holy shrine.
Good or bad, it is a process that I can’t defend;
I also have not the right terms to define.

Leaving or going, I’m invaded by the same feelings:
Prospecting the unknown and putting an end to the mirage .
Regularity makes the pilgrimages insignificant dealings;
Recurrence is an instrument for exacerbating the sabotage.

This time, however, I stopped for a while,
Is the holy shrine my real destination?
It’s both a sanctuary and exile
And, also, neither pain nor sensation.

Comparisons, confusion and concepts
Assault me before every visit.
Tire, tediousness and toughness
Urge me to accelerate making it.

Repeated patterns end at that shrine
On which step morality and eternity standstill.
It is a solemn spirit and a concubine;
Vague entity but a famous thrill.

From that visit, please, spare me;
I had enough! Release my soul!
Oh, you are afraid to see me free
And capable of evading the whirlpool.