The Art Of Failure

I know again

The attempt

Will be vain

Throwing myself

Into the familiar

Failure

Until the slightest 

Pulsation 
In the veins

The unavoidable

Bleeding

At the tip of the pen

Compellingly

Attracted by

The dizziness

Of sliding into
The sinuous thoughts

Wrapped into ink

To see beyond

The ricocheting music

Of the words

I am

Their prisonner

Or maybe

They are mine

A both pleasurable
And painful
Union

 

To bring out the essence

Of the mysterious

Bliss

Diluting myself

Into

The perfect confusion

Involved again

Until

Silence

('Translation is the art of failure' - Umberto Ecco)