Ahead of the paper we see the white
The same that our soul prospers
The white of the feelings, that is chimera.
The challenge is to ahead write the first line of a verse.
Of the paper, for hours, I was immersed
Without nothing to tell, nothing to make, only looking at and saying:
"To be or not to be?"
Where are you, inspiration?
Where are you, illusion?
Did you died in the lake with Ophelia,
Or was banished and wounded with the darts of my disenchantment?
How to say the truth when everything in us is only questions?
How to say any deep words and full verses of enchantments,
When no word takes brightness when overlapping a blank page?
How to say that yes, if everything in us says them that not?
"To be or not to be, that´s the question!
Let us drown us in our sleep, therefore they say, with it, we finish the regret it heart and innumerable the natural conflicts that constitute the inheritance of the meat!
And ahead of the conflict, that end could more devotedly be desired?
To die... To sleep... Perhaps to dream!"
To desire that the next day was the next, that everything in return was different tomorrow.
To erase the marks of yesterday, to discard forever what it will negative inflict in ours mind.
Repelling us thus of all the anguish.