XXXIII
(For Spanish translation click here)

If it rained tonight I would retire

from here to a thousand years.

Or better just a hundred, no more,

as if nothing had happened, I should imagine

that I’m still to come.

Oh, motherless and loveless, without an urge

to squat down and loom into the very depths by pure

strength,

tonight, like this, I should be disentangling

the Vedic fiber,

the Vedic wool of my final end, thread

of the devil, the twisting

mark of having held by the nose

two jangling clappers of time

in one single bell.

Do the math of my life,

or do the math of yourself still not born yet,

I shall not succeed in freeing myself.

It will not be what has not yet come, but what has

arrived and already gone, but what has

arrived and already gone.