Hidden - The three times of one poem- A poem inscribe it on time(translation)
The several movements of a poem
One poem who is guided,
in certain wished rhythm
That is which feels by one side...
That turn inside out in other desert face!
Like a goodness which i keep,
who become a revelation that wake me up.
Always thought in reverse.
A poem create and recreate a license to dream...
That go blending with colours and upright the verse!
If in such enfolding i get determination
for know and not know how emerge...
In blind bends in a time that urge!
In that third time wich is discreet futur,
who shows in rhymes with such unending sense
Reveted in a surprise of a great disquiet!
One first time for his tender face.
One second time for one uncertain inconstancy.
One third time for one mysterious revelation of an instant!
The poem who borns in a mistery redoubt.
In a condition of a serious valour,
who appears to be sincere and unique!
Improvised didn`t captivate destinations, neither jails!
It´s enfolding mútuo, divine and forever...
It makes unequal in a not perenniality of the fallen leaves in Winter.
Therefore reach his sublime intent
In some whoever impossible and calid moment...
That spread it in a force name it as time of silence!
I find it like a disenchantment that return touch again!
I look askance from one of your sides...
In captation from his substance to get explain.
Cause i want understand him, respire him!
In that invention of your three times.
In a projection who demands three rhymes for reinvent itself...
One poem is one deep and careful description of time.
The time who is tenacious in his urgent passage!
But which can be taken to be turn.
Like a marker who distinguishes the time and his history
Like a difference between the apparent night during the solar eclipse and the night.
The poem inscribe it in the human time printed on temple of memory!
If the infinity is distant from being and your eternity,
The poem keeps in his way the laborious time.
And his labor, the thought, transforms it in curious time!
The beauty who determines the nature
can be keeped by the the senses,
but only the poem can give voice of one illusory certain!
The poem jaz in such great fragility!
But is simultaneous in genesis of creativity
Like an unfinished adventure who watches to penumbra of the mistery of life!
Rosamar Freedom