Born of whim and condemned to life,
he did not taste the bread of wealth and love of purity.
The fate of rebellious destiny predetermined him,
but once the bruises have not happened yet.
Cast down in life, unprotected, in a thin carapace,
with the feeling of a cripple on a hard pillory.
In the cramping of the limbs,
in humiliation at the border,
he knew he had enough.
With a spark in the eye and a finger on the trigger,
with anxiety in his soul, happiness leaves him.
On a dry climate tongue as a sole,
where the desire for hope, where did you go?
The trembling lip penetrates the sweat with cold,
you lost a wheel, you lost a point.
Run and become a wanderer.
I know it attracts you far, a fiery horizon,
dusty smells of scents,
rocky mountains, silver pools.
By the way, you become eternal time,
you know the distance, your inner voice.
And then once, when the cognac becomes mature,
you will find your peace and gray hair.
from a poetic selection "through life"