the plane
touches down
smoothly
a few seconds
i look at the river
winding
in murk
the nipa palms
have water
on their necks
too much water here
back home
it stresses
my mind
sometimes i think
this world will end
with so much water
that we all drown to death
that waves as big as mountains
come to claim
our lives
i am back home then
whatever happens
it does not matter anymore
i will say it to myself
we all die anyway
what time
and how
it does not really matter
i am back home
and we are still on
missing each other's
arms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed the manner doesn't matter as long as you are where you want to be.