Pensamento

Thought that comes from outside
and thinks it comes from within,
thought that expectorates
what I think in my chest.
Thought at a thousand per hour,
torment at every moment.
Why do I think now
without my consent?
If everything that celebrates
has its impediment,
if everything that cries
grows with its ferment;
thought, get out,
leave my mind.
Thought, go away,
disappear in the wind.
And I will not sow seeds
on top of your cement.