I was not made to live anywhere except in Paradise.

 Such, simply, was my genetic inadaptation.

 Here on earth every prick of a rose-thorn changed into a wound.
 whenever the sun hid behind a cloud, I grieved.

 I pretended to work like others from morning to evening,
 but I was absent, dedicated to invisible countries.

 For solace I escaped to city parks, there to observe
 and faithfully describe flowers and trees, but they changed,
 under my hand, into the gardens of Paradise.

 I have not loved a woman with my five senses.
 I only wanted from her my sister, from before the banishment.

 And I respected religion, for on this earth of pain
 it was a funereal and a propitiatory song.