she shares a world
the room where her children make most of the mess
and they say all the
possible excuses
arguing as though they are all lawyers
she talks about the small cubicle
on the 17th floor
somewhere atop
New York
she swears she might have been
transshipped
to another place but the place where
she was born
was never taken inside her
guts
i listen attentively and can tell
that she wants to keep things
in their original flavor
like ginger and spring onions
but as usual
what is said is normally different from what is done
she is right
she may share her world but she keeps
her own thoughts to herself
and it is fair
since that is what i am also doing now
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem