Jefferson Robles, where are you tonight?
Who foresaw the difference between teen passions and making a living
Who bridged the gap between claims of irreverence and claims of irrelevance
Who painted a picture before adulthood filters kicked in
Who used a study room in the school library to listen to homemade cassettes of alternative music
Music and art sadly left us for responsibility
Jefferson Robles, where are you today?
I hope no one ever sees this
Because in the language of the working week, there are no words to talk of this kind of past experience
How non-conformity by itself had a value
How without definite plans, we predicted our own atrophy
If we met years later which is now, we'd have fewer subjects to talk about
He grew up into an armchair
A sedate and immoveable future
He grew up into a business with its own website
His memories are of general things
His clarity ruined by maturity
His clarity now as much a children's fable as never never land
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem