We present this work in honor of the 145th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

I am finally in the den of death
where sorrows and pains do not fly,
where the stars and flowers do not shine,
where there is no memory that awakens.

If one day nature has fun
breaking the horrors from this prison,
and its burning, wandering breaths
pour on my loose dust,

I, for eternity already devoured,
Will I enjoy if that dust is a rose?
Will I moan if a serpent nests in it?

Not even nightmares will give me a care,
Nor will a hateful voice frighten my sleep,
Not even a whole God will bring me back to life.