The chestnut tree erects between all and naught. I derive masculinity from it to shape myself. My soul has two sides, male and female. They have launched a war for many years. To see as a bystander which side could possess my body. The gunpowder rips asunder the skin of my soul. Chokes whoever passes me by. Only the castrated dog dances with me. He seeks desperately for a spay dog. We both are created to break through hedging-in tradition.
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The monsoon literature
PoesíaOur self is always so distant a leap from the surroundings. Literature is the medium of the minority to revolt, to state existence.
