Sometimes I go to distant places,
as far as the city bus reaches,
finding myself in spooky suburbs,
immersed in pitch black night,
accommodating a never-ending darkness;
sometimes I eat raw potatoes,
merging arboreal with human roots
to sense the strength of earth needed
to turn my life upside down;
sometimes I walk on the edge,
between the highway with its lashing trucks
on one side
and the fast, unfriendly river
on the other;
sometimes, scared of barking dogs
and invisible axe blows,
I run away from too much wilderness,
into the heart of a city
abundantly lit with substitute stars -
my soul comfortable
in good old monotony,
perched before the television.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem