Something magical is meant only to be seen
and then be gone and then be just remembered with awe and pain
it is not meant to be dissected like a frog
separating muscle from bones and naming each part and lag
and then naming it again apart from its connecting
ligament and nerve ending
somethings are simply meant to be enjoyed
not to be really fully understood
like the way you lick an ice cream
not knowing who made it skim
how it is really made
what are its ingredients unsaid
like the way you make love to me
you do not measure the ecstasy as though it is a cup of honey
you do not count the moans and the screams
you do not even have to open your eyes or dream
to know how pleasure penetrated your bones
and fit into your emptiness like some stones
that thing called joy
and
bliss and beans or soy
something so beautiful is simply meant
to be remembered like the rain
or even to return there again and again
not knowing what the consequences of pain
let the pain come perhaps later
for the meantime let's be better
as usual
let the role of regret be
the one
who comes always
late
undone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem