I come, but I know that
the poem's silence is stronger.
I find enough shade within myself
to share my light
with the silent ones.

I am here, although blissful peace
imitates my soul.
My heart does not fit on the world's plan -
I wait for freedom
to dissolve in my blood.

Imprisoned in my own mind,
I want to feel in you a remnant
of the universe,
a bit of forgotten humanity.

The night, freed from the stars,
is now just an excuse.
A protest that is hard
to admit.
Your exhausted kisses shimmer
on the thin skin of your wrists;
twilight is a sentence
from which you cannot escape.

Eternity makes tears sink under
the eyelid of sleep.
No, nothing else matters
except the past that remains to us.

One day I will understand
that sometimes a tear is enough
to start a new autobiography.
My passion
becomes a curse.