I will become the best poet in this city
Poetry has burned the metal of my soul
One day you walked away on the arm of another
Don’t come near me, I’m haunted by words
I dilute the ink in salt
To revive my wounds and make the fire gush
On the paper that floods my unmade bed

I will become the best poet in this country
It is a truth melted in the lead of the sky
I will become the best poet, the most sincere
Poetry is my friend, poets are my brothers
They hold my hand at the edge of the twilight
Don’t come any closer! I am contaminated by the ink!
Love has isolated me from men
And I write with my eyes closed

I will become the best poet wherever my rage carries
It is a vow hung on the windows of the churches, and the sky swings
Don’t come any closer! Poetry haunts me, the words alone animate me
Poetry is a torment that I remake each evening
The blazing twilight reminds me of my name
But I remain motionless, fleeing from reason
The heart blackened by ink, the soul empty of your absence
And I see the stanzas dancing on the wall
Like filaments of fire