I’ve always had a
Fascination with fire.
From centuries
To battles
Warfare, and in
Revelries
There will always be
A flame that singes
In the high-noon,
In the middle of a tempest
Or during the silent,
Abysmal night.
Two bodies making love,
Creating cruel friction.
There is a fire
That a soul cannot contain.
There are certain
Origins of fire and look,
Even the gods stare at
Us with a fire taken
As fondness.
In revelries, I guzzle
Too much fire in a consummate
Attempt to set myself
Ablaze.
Underneath the mad clatter
Of the utensils,
The salutations of the
Rancorous glasses
I set myself on fire
Along with a few imprudent
People.
And this,
As I set myself
In a trance
In front of this hollow
Space I call the world,
I burn
In these moments
Of having no one,
Feeling nothing – benumbed
That not even the soul
Felt the fewer seductions
Of desolation.
I set myself on fire
During these moments.
A taut hold on a pen
And a stern gaze
At a paper -
I unravel,
Seethe,
Unsheathe these scars
With a flame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem