you shall choose
between a gun and a flower
a room or a path
between an empty space and
another empty space
between a dimming light
and another darkness or
too much light which has
blinded you or between being
alive and being dead and
there you shall know the
limits as you end the right
to choose with an erasure
of what what was boldly written
you shall choose between choosing
and not choosing if there
is really that choice.
you end with a desire not to
think, to cease, to stop and
just be the tree that you
like. Above a hill, tested
by the seasons, unable to
transfer to another hill and
hence has grown deeper roots
blindly underneath carrying
all its own weight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem