The one that’s out there in the street, out there in the country,
the rough and vehement tyranny,
that governs my life as a citizen
that one will pass
because it punishes my body,
but does not have neither the agent nor the means
to touch my spirit.
But, listen to me well, Bertha,
from your scent
from your scent that presides over my memory
from your last kisses
from certain conversations
that are now only echoes
from that high security imposed by my own private tyranny,
one that I myself invoke to eternity
from that, nothing can spare me.