The rule of the game is this:
I have this basket filled with truths
That I cannot tell you
Because these are all bitter fruits
Of broken trees
This is the game of poetry
I can tell you something else
But it will be the same basket filled with
Bitter fruits
Only that
It will be artistically put
And shall be more pleasing to your eyes
For I cannot make you sad
And be like us
What is uglier than truth
Now appears to you as
The most fashionable lies
But soon you shall learn the trick
And be another expert
At telling truths that cannot hurt
At knowing no departures
That gives you
Never a sense of abandon
But all cheers
And welcomes
Those which must be redeeming
Like the way we put back the broken wings of the birds
Who have refused for days
To fly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem