The Cage of DreamsI burn the insignificant sheets
of light and darkness that seem printed in blood.
Stains of ink remaining
even ripped from the word to which they were rooted.
I seek beauty as a way to dodge the clouds
of darkness that reduce hopes to ashes.
I run away from the bleakness that, with
their makeup of torment, tries to calcine my deepest dreams.
Photographs of ghosts that vanish
in a stream of withered stars.
Light strokes that seek to be breathed
but die in amnesia.
I still get the sweet smell of nostalgia
that in a loop of tears rides into a tomorrow
that rises from the inexpressive remains of dawn,
trying to find a chink of agonizing light.
But the only thing that leaves my lips is words,
corrupt meaningless words that
like needles devoid of a fate, walk
into an empty sea of commiseration.
I incinerate a letter in a bottle,
I look around me, but I see nothing but a mask
covered by gestures that try to hide the reality:
The monotony of this empty street.