Lively readings radiate me with a thousand sensations
But my mind no longer gleans any inspiration there;
I have a dampened mood that stiffens with disillusionment,
Because my obsolete poetry is exhausted by vain notions.
It’s a gaping memory hole that deprives me of clear words
Like a heavy constraint preventing prosperous ideas;
Which generates an agreed vocabulary with an ungrateful style,
And the novelty of my pen has a very fat lead in its wing.
Words trapped in a distinguished cage
Remain cloistered in senseless gravity,
Escape by ways that I pursue relentlessly;
Blurry sketch of a vague moment of my desires.
My conscience succumbs to feeling this burden
This impotence to write an exquisite emotion again;
Muzzled by the redundant expressions that pile up,
I become the author of clumsy and graceless writing.
My weary poetry suffers the weight of absent words
And I seek the counter-spell of this evanescent language;
In the effort to rediscover the lightness of the emotions of yesteryear,
I suspend the dull moment of a bad page.