we promise, soon, tomorrow
we shall all be good, we
had made promises, soon,
we shall all be good, not
minding other people's business,
not pecking on weak people,
not concentrating only on
ourselves, closing doors and
watching the world go by,
motions of rain falling and
leaves blown away by strong
winds, or waves galloping on
shores into fractured sands,
where to? sometimes i make you
lost, as you track me down, i
change direction, i want to go
back to my innate goodness, but
where to? it is always going back
to bad, and this i tell truly
to myself, i am getting back
to bad, and sometimes i reflect
i am not that hundred percent
bad, for at least at this moment
i recognize this fact, i am back
to bad and it is the truth and
nothing but the truth, and here
i am satisfied: this goodness in
me and as i clap my hands alone
in this lonely activity: by all
means whatever happens, i still
know that innate goodness, knowing
that i have gone bad and telling
such truth to me, and to this
corner, these words.
i make a promise again, i tell
the truth, and tomorrow, i will
be good. I beat my chest with
my two fists.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem