story of a fracasssado

I am nothing.
I'll never be anything.
I do not wish to be anything .
Apart from that , I have in me all the dreams of the world .

Windows of my room ,
From my room in one of the world's millions nobody knows about
( And if they knew about me , what would they know ? )
Dais to the mystery of a street continually crossed by people ,
For inaccessible to all thoughts Street
Real, impossibly real, certain , unknowingly certain ,
With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings ,
With death making the walls damp and gray hair in men ,
With Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing .

Today I am defeated , as if he knew the truth .
Today I am lucid, as if to die ,
And had no more kinship with things
Than to say goodbye , making this building and this side of the street
A row of carriages of a train , and a whistled starting
From inside my head,
And a jolt of my nerves and a creak of bones as we go .

Today I am bewildered as one who wondered and discovered and forgot .
Today I am torn between the loyalty I owe
In the Tobacco Shop across the street as the real thing on the outside,
And the feeling that everything is a dream, as real thing inside.

I failed in everything .
As I had no aims , maybe everything was nothing .
The learning they have given me ,
It descended by the back window of the house ,
I went to the countryside with grand plans .
But all I found was grass and trees,
And when we had was the same as another .
Go out the window , I sit in a chair . On what should I think ?

I know what I will be, I do not know what I am?
Be what I think ? But I think it so much !
And there are many who think that the same thing can not be that many!
Genius ? now
Hundred thousand brains are conceived in a dream geniuses like me
And the story does not score , who knows, either,
Neither will be but dung so many future achievements .
No, I do not believe in me .
In all there crazy insane asylums with so many certainties !
I, who have no certainty , I'm more or less right ?
No, not me ...
How many garrets and non- garrets of the world
There are geniuses at this time - for - dreaming selves ?
How many high and noble and lucid aspirations -
Yes , truly high, noble and lucid -
And who knows if achievable,
Never see the light of the actual sun, nor be heard by human ears ?
The world is for those born to conquer
And not for those who dream they can conquer it , even if you're right.
I have dreamed more than Napoleon did .
I tightened the hypothetical breast more humanity than Christ
Philosophies have made ​​no secret that Kant wrote .
But I am , and perhaps always will be , the mansard ,
Although we do not live in it ;
Not always be what you were born to it ;
I will always be just what had qualities ;
Always be what you hoped would open the door at the foot of a wall
without
 port
And sang the song of the Infinite in a poultry house ,
And God heard the voice of a plugged well .
Believe me? No, not at all.
Pour Me Nature on the burning head
Its sun, its rain, the wind that finds my hair ,
And the rest that comes to come, or have come or not come .
Cardiac slaves of the stars ,
Conquered the whole world before leaving our beds ;
But we were awakened and it was opaque ,
We got up and he is oblivious ,
We left the house and he is the whole earth ,
Over the solar system and the Milky Way and the Indefinite .

(Eat your chocolates, little
Eating chocolates !
Know there are no metaphysics in the world but chocolates .
Look that not all religions teach more than confectionery .
Eat, dirty , eat!
I could eat chocolates as true as you!
But I think , and to get the silver paper , which is tin foil ,
I drop it all to the ground , as I have done with my life . )

But at least it is the bitterness of that will never be
The rapid handwriting of these verses ,
Portico party for the Impossible .
But at least I consecrate myself contempt without tears
At least in broad noble gesture that shoot
The laundry I am without rol , to the course of things,
And stay home shirtless.