it is not just shaping your hands like a net
when you fish for mermaids in the air
you are surprised to trap only poisonous sea snakes
because you cannot recall the name of the thing
that bites you and makes you think some more.
was it a stingray? it looks familiar but definitely it isn't.
it wasn't, it looks like an umbrella with hair as feet
behind you is the orchestra that plays the song of the champions
sounding like Queens,
then the guests start to leave, and you are inside your
innermost self, not wanting to open like a door
it is all mixed up, then the artistry of words come like soldiers
putting order to a chaos that you have just created
no one knows it, the room is perfectly at peace with the tree
the clouds drift, and dissolve to a certain distance
it is too far, you tell your friend, who died five years ago
you revolve around a world of words, and you try to find one that
describes all these realities, to no avail
your thumb is cut, your tongue envies it, you are mum
like a victim, there is a war, it is between you and you,
the i is gone, the us lingers, but you want it hanged.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem