1. My throat travels in a wound
And my lungs pour bombs from it

2. For ninety centuries if I recalled agony
My lips closed over my troubles

3. For ninety my wound did not yawn
Hot and free nor did my sobs subside

4. I saddled my heart to passion and my mouth
And my hot ships and my sails

5. And I traveled while the horizons were dark
My heart was my compass on the waves

6. And I wrote my history in what they were ignorant of
From the bleeding of my arteries and veins

7. So my little one sees my tired letters
And says: What is wrong with you, my father?

8. So I say: My son, they have a language
In love .. they do not know what my tongue is

9. For ninety, my son, I die of love
And I point my skull to events

10. Morning enlightenment will sprout, my eye
And my path will be glimpsed from the depths of darkness

11. And they will remember my positions and my blood
And my delirious poems and rhyme

12. And those whom I carried their wound will see
That the winds blow from my direction