we understand
that everything is personal
we like you to know
but we have reservations
reality is dark, stark,
most often, ugly as we call it
we invoke art, someone that
arranges a scattered room
into a good looking house
from the point of view
of the road and the
cars and those that merely
pass by
we call on someone reliable,
to calm the dog, to call the bird back
to its cage,
to mow the grass
to make all things neat and clean
and presentable
we all love beauty, and smoothness
we like sweetness, and pine scented outdoors
gentle winds, morning lights,
sea breeze, a peaceful neighborhood,
trimmed grass, well painted doors,
a system, a ledger, a well kept note,
a record of what happened
we understand that everything is
personal
on the other hand we too understand
what privacy is
do you want us to tell you only those
that you want to hear?
do you want us to lie?
here we are waiting at the outside of
things, waiting, and waiting,
we are from your ribs, we do not want
to hurt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem