let us gather our things
and fleeting ephemeral thoughts
make inventory of life
in all it's irregular shapes and forms
all the invisible movements
that already transpired
before our half-opened eyes
label it - 'the first memory'
or 'the last impression'
and leave it that
what could it have been-
so unbelievable, so incredible
in the shadows of the past
or was it just a moment ago
yet already out of reaches
of the tired mind
and sentimental sadness
that colors memories
and moments
as it pleases
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem