once it was the clarity that i sought
and there was none and all i had is doubt
once i was sure of myself
and believed it to be so such stuff that is stiff
until i became a river of stool
and everything in there is foul
and i slept and i wake up and i thought
about what are those that landed in my spout
perhaps clarity is not what must be sought
neither doubt
for who wants doubt to rule our lives
as though we do not live in a world of lies
upon some layers of
historical rocks and socks?
and then i simply look around me
simply describing what comes and what passes on a day
a bus loading passengers
hands waiving gears
a very calm sea
a wharf where boats are free
a house by the mountain
fireflies feasting on the rain
a tree crown at night
beside a river up tight
sounds of owls and
ghouls
a rain that starts
pouring
on the roof of the house
listening
simply listening
much about nothing
about these things
as they are
disregarding
who we are
every moment is an act to be done
spic and span
every hour
an spectator
every second simply
passing line
beyond the edge
of a clean page
i do not think for the future now
in the same manner that i let the past sleep like it were dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem