Yesterday I saw a homeless man waiting for a bus.
He sat on a bench wearing winter clothes in the blazing
sun, facing a highway where cars buzzed from one oblivion
to the next. He spoke loudly to himself, as a priest performing Eucharist
to the unconscious. As I looked at him from the shadows of the Spanish
moss, I wanted to be a good person. I wanted redemption. I needed to
redeem myself from daily self-indulgence, from a cat-like enjoyment
of comforts, from vanity and casual indifference. I wanted to give him the
42 dollars in my wallet. Could redemption be bought so cheaply? And if it
could, was it worth having? Unresolved, now speaking to myself, slowly I
walked past the man in winter clothes in the blazing sun, and decided to catch a movie, where roses spring from a glowing screen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem