Why do you always
Point out my flaws?
Like a marksman.
Very accurate.
Why do you always
Judge my peccadilloes?
Are you sent by the gods
To purge me of my woes
And sins?
Why do I swim
In the oceans of your tedious
Discrepancies?
Am I an ocean of lament?
Or am I the lament in your
Ocean?
Why do you incinerate
All that I make?
Am I a burnt note to you?
A cancelled one?
Ought not to be seen
By the populace,
By the sparrows,
And even the exhausted
Seraphs?
Have you seen
The creases of my soul?
The indentations of my folds?
You always give taut thrusts
Using your sinister protrusile tongue.
You converse with eyes closed.
You talk without seeing.
You hear without hearing.
You intend to listen
But contradict it.
You intend to give life,
When what you gave
Is death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem