con las alas en llamas
Soy esa polilla en llamas
que con sus alas prendidas
y en espiral de muerte
contra la húmeda calle se estrella
después de inútilmente implorar
de la mas tenaz lluvia refugio
a una indolente e incandescente
lámpara callejera.
My wings are afire
Oh, how like a moth in flames am I,
With burning wings, I take to the sky,
And in a spiral of death, I fly,
Towards the wet street below, I cry.
How futile my plea for shelter from the rain,
As I crash to the ground in unbearable pain,
Against the indifferent, incandescent street lamp,
Whose light had lured me like a deceptive champ.
Alas, I am but a moth with no sense of reason,
Drawn to the light in a blind and fatal season,
Yet I shall rise again, like a phoenix from the ash,
And seek new heights, despite the perilous flash.
