Out here each hour witnesses how nights are exchanged,
How the moon with its cluster of stars, is ferried
from one wallet to another
And how those bed sheets, strained in moonlight
remain dumped on a hospital’s garbage-
There I still roam about like a street mutt
Just then a few excellent tales teach me some easy ways
of standing rude in a chilly January night…
To my left stands Plato while on my right Othello speaks
Scratches on neck and blindness in my speak
Strive for a final scream-
I haven’t achieved you this time but
I’ll return as a fly or bacteria
And sit on our glossy lips and infer
Weather they’re at all lovable…!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem