he sent me a picture
of a highway
and some cars
running
taking some pilgrims
on their
usual far journeys
to include himself
of course
and he swears that
along the horizon of
that vast desert
along the asphalted
highway
far from the city he
sees two
flaming suns
i dismiss the idea
as flowers of his
dismal loneliness
but it is not the end
of this theorizing about
miracles
(when you are so lonely
away from home)
it is about a broken self
that travels a very long distance
hoping to
repair itself like
piecing aggregate parts
segregated by
the cruelty of time
the indifference of
men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem