1. From the wind I kindle the poem’s bleeding.

    And time remains

  2. ،

    Pitchers—from them

    I pour the nectar of speech,

  3. And from my language

    I make lightning, light of step,

  4. And thunder

    That leads the caravans of my poetry to a land

  5. :

    And tells me, saying:

    Here, there is no match for your shadow.

  6. So walk your path alone.

    Do not look back,

  7. So that the specter of others disappears behind you.

    And look ahead,

  8. .

    Where you see yourself on the horizon.

gpt-5.6-sol