I ran away from him too many times,
through all the stages of delusion.
Now I have nothing but my singing rhymes.
Through comic paradise where the sublime's
a bright chaotic clearing in the sun
I ran away from him too many times.
Our operas were only pantomimes.
We cried and fought and even loved for fun.
Now I have nothing but my singing rhymes.
I was a hero who committed crimes,
he was a villain helping everyone:
I ran away from him too many times.
I ran through groves of oranges and limes.
I ran by rivers to the ocean.
Now I have nothing but my singing rhymes.
Up, up beyond where vegetation climbs,
down, down till there was nowhere else to run,
I ran away from him too many times.
Now I have nothing but my singing rhymes.
1983
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem