Thanks to you, my lady
In the space we find an asphyxiating air
Partly for the path you have chosen
Pretending it is settled, trying vainly to diminish
The pain that otherwise I am sure
Would overwhelm me so that I would miss the light
Until I find somebody guilty of blame
This infinite place, which might be reached and lived
She runs away from my hands to dwell in Thou name
And knowing my identity she dismisses me without pity
Because in my story there is little but pure
Although, not water meant for lips that only drink innocence.
At the height of the memories of my story
Kept like a dagger in the center of my heart
The terrible power to imagine that you are with me
And only for that image I embrace immensity in my solitude
In which, even the sun has left in compassion
And its warmth is less than in previous centuries
Believing that is because part of its flame and heat
Were deflected when I lost the way looking at you.
I confess that a part in me wants to afflict you
As a person with a terminal disease addicted to his physician
And as he intends to heal, the patient releases his fury
And thus they way I want to convey you my disturbed nights.
But it is brief, my dear lady
I learned to accept my condition in ashes
For being as air and belonging to the ethereal
Knowing that the cost is to find the uncalled-for
Not two mistakes, only one or none
Because if in loving the law is not broken
There is no reason to feel guilty unless of wasting time
As there is no pleasure unattainable in eternity.
Because you left me I am leaving you
And because you do not look for me I will
Knowing in each step
I will not reach you, like a man who walks perceiving it.