without much thought
i come back to that corner where i just sat
a minute ago
i am not looking for anything
i know i have not forgotten anything like a pen
or a lighter or a piece of paper
for in truth i do not bring these kind of stuff anymore
a pen in my pocket cannot be
i don't have a pocket
a piece of paper to write some notes of things that i easily forget
like things to do this morning
or a meeting tonight
or a date with someone else
for i do not write those things which are so important to me
because i do not really forget anything so important
what more for a lighter...
in truth, i ceased to be an arsonist
of love..
i get burned, i do not burn anyone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem