In the velvety night, caressed by shadows,
A poet whom I deeply respect whispered to me,
That my verses, through his cold and harsh eyes,
Were but weak jokes, a pale reflection,
Not slicing arteries, not unlocking true agony,
But instead, terribly to pronounce, accessible.
I lift my head under the dream-laden sky,
Grasping the truth like a bouncing rubber ball,
Determined not...
Continue reading...