Donde esta el centro del mar ? Por que no van allí las olas ?

Voice of a young fellow ?

Trickling, trickling:
I run like sand seeping away between the fingers.
I am aware of so many senses,
all of them thirsting with new demands.
Painfully in a hundred parts
I throb and tense.
But above all here,
in the heart.

When may I die ?
Let me be.
In the end
I'll probably succeed in feeling such fear
that my pulses will spring apart...