Sección "Muerte"
En pena
A pesar que soy muy joven, le temo a la muerte…
Mucho, a cada circunstancia prescrita;
A cada acción del instinto…
Le temo a morir, a no saber cómo será, o cuando…
El punto medio de la vida, el mártir de cualquier religión,
La musa que me lleva a no pensar en cada noche,
Para que en una tarde plasme una idea errónea de lo que es la muerte.
Entonces, miedo, pena, arrepentimiento.
Le temo a cada eso, al existencialismo que vivo cada vez que pienso más de un minuto.
Entiendo, el no poder saber más de lo que se debe;
Aunque poder saber más también duele.
Entonces… quisiera que me dijeran…
¿Qué debo hacer?
¡No pensar nada más!
Así mueran muchos de repente,
Así me duela cada centímetro de mi piel sin saber que es.
Entonces…
¿Moriré?
¿Cuándo? ¿Dónde?
Si moriré, quisiera saber algo, solo un poco…
Aunque sea, saber… si será muy, pero muy tarde.
in pain
Even though I'm very young, I'm afraid of death...
Much, to every prescribed circumstance;
To every action of instinct...
I am afraid of dying, of not knowing how it will be, or when…
The midpoint of life, the martyr of any religion,
The muse that leads me not to think about every night,
So that in one afternoon he captures an erroneous idea of what death is.
So fear, sorrow, regret.
I fear each that, the existentialism that I live every time I think for more than a minute.
I understand, not being able to know more than you should;
Although being able to know more also hurts.
So... I would like you to tell me...
What should I do?
Think no more!
So many die suddenly,
So every inch of my skin hurts without knowing what it is.
So…
I will die?
When? Where?
If I die, I would like to know something, just a little...
Even if it is, to know… if it will be very, very late.
in pain
Even though I'm very young, I'm afraid of death...
Much, to every prescribed circumstance;
To every action of instinct...
I am afraid of dying, of not knowing how it will be, or when…
The midpoint of life, the martyr of any religion,
The muse that leads me not to think about every night,
So that in one afternoon he captures an erroneous idea of what death is.
So fear, sorrow, regret.
I fear each that, the existentialism that I live every time I think for more than a minute.
I understand, not being able to know more than you should;
Although being able to know more also hurts.
So... I would like you to tell me...
What should I do?
Think no more!
So many die suddenly,
So every inch of my skin hurts without knowing what it is.
So…
I will die?
When? Where?
If I die, I would like to know something, just a little...
Even if it is, to know… if it will be very, very late.
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