Broken,
sombre,
venomous
I stand, light-emitting,
Honey flows from my fissures,
Shattered at my weakest point,
Alone and abandoned,
A state that causes harm to no one,
But me it destroys
In pain
Which drips with the sweet aroma
Of blood crushed
In solitude.

Oh, ingenious is this state,
For as I come to understand that I have lost everything,
I sense the infinite pleasure
Of having in hand
My own being
Which
Neither praise nor crown
Could ever have bestowed on me.

Praise! What word is this?
How did it reach me?
How did it come?
An invention!
(Certainly
Some base, unnatural
Ambition) .

I return whence I came, and arrive at nature.
Here I stand, want to judge it, but once again withdraw.
How fair and yet mortal is man,
How hearty and yet lonely.
Such strength and such suspicion...

Oh, unceasingly
You survey that inert unwinding in flight.
Everything absolute becomes unexpected.
Has only beauty the right
To pretend?

Why do you shun me, real creatures,
In a fugitive transformation, my today
Became my yesterday,
So swiftly that it was beyond my comprehension
(do you think there is life without that?)
Desire is yearning for a tomorrow
Which is not mine.

Why do you shun me, real creatures,
I live a life of objects forever inexistent
And have only myself in my hands...
Oh, is there any greater bliss than this?
Could there be any greater sorrow?