Sometimes every day
seems to me symmetric.
There is not one day to sigh,
to park my weary body,
to write a poem,
to kill a minute in silence,
to stare at little things.
I get up with the same
death spirit of yesterday.
Every thing is symmetric today.
My way is a highway
without traffic lights
that show my steps.
I don't know if I'm going or coming.
My journey is symmetric.
I would like to change my direction,
take the old routes,
not to exhaust myself any more,
to stop in every corner,
to break with this symmetry
that opaques me.
I would like to live every second
like it were my last breath.
Symmetry encloses me
in circles, squares and rectangles.
I would prefer to be a free vector,
without an established direction
and without a postulated angle,
composed of infinite
united with the same destination.