What's got into me, that I whip myself with the line
and believe I'm followed, at a trot, by the period?
What's got into me, that I've placed
an egg on my shoulders instead of a cloak?
What's gotten into me, that I live?
What's gotten into me, that I die?
What's got into me, that I have eyes?
What's got into me, that I have a soul?
What's got into me, that ends in my neighbor
and begins the role of wind in my cheek?
What's gotten into me, that I count my two tears,
sob earth, and hang the horizon?
What's gotten into me, that I cry from being unable to cry
and I laugh at the little I've laughed?
Cesar Vallejo
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