By Irsa Ruçi

He whispered, saying that the taste of the mistakeis somehow mercyat the moment when the insidious lightderives from the eyespeaceful;and the words left in halfseeking refugewhere it can dispose it’s overview I laughed behind their backswhile knitting my thoughtsabout the trial of myselfin an impersonal way!The mistake’s form is the tastethat derives from the soulwithout censorshipwithout remorse,with the cries of the consciousnessin a delirious way ! Into the dark he counted using his fingers all the yearswhen all those promises had been burned.© IrsaRuçi      (Translated by Stela Xega)