Let the verse be a mandala
made in the image and likeness
inside a human being
May its form multiply
like the fractals of a universe
that repeats itself eternally
You play inside the circle
and that the images reflect
your infinite microcosm
Paint with the colors of your life:
You are an artist and your work moves
and waits in seconds to be diluted
Look at her out of the corner of your eye and smile with pleasure
The moment has come to thank you
And undo its towering beauty
Erase the verse
Be silent: melt your glory.

If they gave me a choice
between rotting in a common grave
or exile me somewhere I prefer
I would only ask for a basket with omens
to carry it on the shoulders
I wouldn't look for any old map
not even a compass
I know very well where to deposit my bones
so they are always covered in fur
that skin like embossed tissue paper
where my story will be written in blood
that is not important
but it's mine like nothing else
no title required
no keys with secret keys that only I know
definitely
without a doubt
I would not resist my exile
let no one find out
nobody look for me
Never
let them imagine in which pit I disintegrate
or just say that I am another disappeared