THE NORMAL PASSAGE OF A HUMAN BEING
there was this friend
who wrote sonnets in high school
it was the first time that he fell in love
with a girl with thick glasses and fists like stones
i saw how she hit him and he did not do anything
except perhaps to write more sonnets
their love did not make it
they did not marry for love
Life did teach them many lessons
sometimes marriage is not love
profession is not daily bread
survival is not a struggle but simply numbness
living is just a day to day waking up and sleeping
and nights are even not for sleeping anymore
if you are my age you will know that this is not madness
but something that everyone in their normal lives
undergo, like a communion, a confession, a crucifixion
and a redemption
sometimes you are enlightened
like a yogi, you only live for the moment
your children are not yours
your properties are just passing things
like leaves blown away
like memories that no matter how you keep in photographs
all, all still fade away
and that one day, someone asks, ' what is this all about?
who is this? ' and someone who has a tight skin
and a small lit eye says
and lightly, utters, ' i don't really know'
but if they only care enough
the one who was forgotten was the one who wrote sonnets
and the one who said
i do not know is the youngest daughter of
the girl with thick glasses and fists of stones
who died not for love but only for the money.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem