If Sartre told the truth to his interviewer
When he became fond of a fountain pen
He would give it away.
He did not want the pen to own him.
As one owned by many things
I salute this Nobel bard owned only by his cafe.
Wonder if leaving my cell phone exposed
Portends at least some day heading towards true freedom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem