GREAT SOUL IN MY COUNTRY 2 © 2008

I erred in the discourse of life that was meant to be sublime,

I wounded the context with bitter, unrhymed words,

In audacity, I evoked broad thoughts,

But in the end, they were larvae, dreams buried in burdens.

In tombs never opened to metamorphosis,

That in the daylight, neither sublimates nor resolves,

I erred in the course of writing that I wished to be fresh and clear,

I wounded the idea with dry thoughts, devoid of the soul that erupts.

Today, those words want to be hollow, without weight or colour,

After all, emptiness belongs to tasteless victors,

Who have never tasted defeat, nor felt the pain,

Not caring to the soul about the bitterness of favours, without warmth.

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