I feel exhaustion lodged deep in my chest
and weighing down my legs.
Autumn opens doors
through which the birds flee,
licking their wounds
as they cast off their borrowed disguises
and feel their way among those lifeless remains,
which were left to bear the brunt of fate,
as night falls
in the still solitude of the squares.
The tree’s solitary lament
as it watches, wearily,
its withered leaves fall,
blends with the murmur of the wind
which, blowing at its back,
leaves it exposed
to its own shadow.
Operating his tireless drill
my days pile up and wear me down,
stringing together sighs;
they wear themselves out sharing the silence,
watching life pass by,
whilst I search for signs to guide me
in the deep recesses of my blood,
for the decisive gale is already looming.
Gone are the days
when body and soul
were in constant harmony,
but today I carry a mist-like weariness
that has become entrenched
in my chest and my legs,
yearning for the morning light.
My body still recalls
those happy days of a past
which, insistently, knocks
at the essential doors of silence
where all the answers lie.