Translation:The Voice of the Mirror

This is how life passes, like a strange mirage. The blue rose that lights up and gives life to the thistle! along with the burden of the awful dogma, the sophism of Goodness and Reason.

It has been seized, perhaps, that which grazed the hand; perfumes took flight, and within them has arisen the mold that has grown on the apple tree of my dead Hope, halfway down the road.

This is how life passes, with the airy songs of an inebriated woman. I go all overwhelmed, forward..., forward, bemoaning my funeral march.

They go at the foot of royal Brahmanic elephants, and with the sordid buzz of boiling mercury, these couples who raise toasts sculpted in rock and forgotten twilights a cross in the mouth.

This is how life passes, vast orchestra of sphinxes hurling at the void their funeral march.