The Weary Circles
(For Spanish translation click here)

There are desires to return, to love, not to go away,

and there are desires to die, fought by two

contrary waters that will never become isthmus.

There are desires for a kiss that would shroud life,

that withers in Africa of a fiery agony,

suicide!

There are desires to . . . to not have desires. Lord;

at you I point my god murdering finger.

There are desires not to have had a heart at all.

Spring returns, returns to go away once again. And God,

curved in time, repeats himself passing,

passing with the spinal cord of the Universe on his shoulder.

When my temples bent their mournful drum,

when the dream etched on a knife is hurting me,

there are desires not to move on an inch from this poem!