I took petty glances
At my wristwatch and noticed
That it was on a counter-clockwise
Peripatetic.
I never cared, the road was long
And the clouds are heavy with rain.
Run.
Run.
Run.
This jagged sprint to the world unknown,
To what lies behind the marshes of quagmire.
The people are distant,
But then they were running too
A game of tag.
They are out, with daggers for hands.
I can see their bodies
Disperse.
I lean forward,
With a trifle ambivalence,
But what of it?
I’ve not any care
If the clocks are in reverse,
Even the sparrows are hovering
Backwards with their wayward wingspan.
The rain will fall,
And the purging will begin.
The quagmires will thicken,
But afterwards,
Restored.
Anew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem