…And this rain will come to the end,
just like this life will come to the end.
And the familiar terrain of your soul,
this tired world of splits and crevices,
will return to the original unknown.
There you will find the same endless river,
along with the same rave of births and agonies.
There the clouds will gather in herds
by the strokes of invisible palms.
And the rain, the blinding, relentless rain
will plunge onto the overflowing earth.
The rain will become the prophesy,
will become the shiver of the artist
giving birth to his own soul…
And the night will carry away our voices.
The cry of memories will merge with the Universe,
will merge with deep silence,
with everything else that neither force nor steadiness could overcome.
Keeping your palms over your face,
you will forget yourself in this dreadful stupor
and your life will run through those palms
just like this rain that ended this morning…