sometimes we are misled
illusions are too many to detect and delete
the way objects appear to move in circles
when they are not
it is so hard to convince ourselves that the movement is
straight
stabbing the dark secrets of the weaker mind
and the sluggish hands
the way we generalize and forget about the accuracy of
a detail
like the lines on the tails of the slimy fish swimming
upon a brackish water
that in a moment disappears from you leaving you only
a ripple of waters
and then the mystery of silence
deep and so intriguing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem