He thinks he has achieved a feat
seeking security through division
but the fear haunts and thought multiplies
the problem: the gap between
what is and what may be
the itch inside the skin
the memories of love-making
and routine pleasures now nightmare
with chemical change in blood and nerves
licks the tulip in drawing room
and thinks thoughtlessly mindlessly
inflicts more pain to himself
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem