The solitude's torch
kindles with a tacit clumsiness,
it's trembling flame
smokes with perfidiousness
between my numerous rebel thoughts,
the night's sob
cries in the slavery,
in my distroyed imagination;
the depressing and maddened silence
rambles
in my wild and deserted interior
what is my life like
without any pulse...
my desire is intriguing,
I want to escape this situation...
nothing and nobody
can help me...
the minutes are running
from the past towards the future,
they reduce our existence...
I try to drive away
the thought that life is merely vanity
but...
I cannot.