My heart

My scarlet heart, color of wine

It rips the shroud of my calm chest

And it goes fleeing goes, goes walking

Lost in the mists of way

My heart, the mystic prophet,

The paladin's daring of misfortune,

Who dreams of being a saint and poet,

Goes find the Palace of Happiness ...

My heart certainly will not get there ...

Does not know the way or rail,

Not enough memory of this uncertain place ...

I shall make some unrealistic dreams ...

As this mother who saw her son depart

Like this son who never came back!