With a hunched back
Careening towards
The chair,
I slouched towards
A shabby relief
And mulled over
An assortment of
Senseless,
Embittered things:
The taste
Of a terrible vertigo,
The tasteless flames
Upon tongues.
The bleak air
That sifts the hair
Through the waters
Of age
The totality,
The entirety of this
Populace
Besmirches
The sweet taste
In everything.
Even lovers
Trifle with
Truancy
Treason
Loss of
Flame
Over the night,
Over the days.
The tremble of bedlam
Fades in due time -
The taste of kerosene
In one’s tongue
Will soon be replaced by
Nothing but a rueful taste —
A kerosene in one’s tongue
That should have been
Ignited with a match
During the night. The negligence
Of these people
Swarms me
Like a plague
Of limping locusts.
The people
Taste like the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem