O friend,
What are you looking for?
Why don't you wake up?
Why are you afraid of
Waking up?
…
With sludge we wash up
Our muddy garments.
For tomorrow we send
The questions of today
And the days before.
…
Your mouth's dried.
I know your mouth's dried, but
You're still too far.
…
A flock of pigeons
Runs through your head
But soon comes out, exhausted,
Barely beating the wings;
Haven't You been,
If my memory does not betray me,
Dreaming of flying?
…
Train yourself to darkness;
Blindness is ahead.
..
Your mouth's dried?
Well, in the mug you may find
Some remaining drops.
Drink, then, and follow me;
I am heading for the Pantomime
Of eternity.
..
You need no perfume over there;
Fingertips, There, would not touch each other.
...
O friend,
Don't wake up.
Hold on.
Soon you'll be reaching the start line.
Only then you'll stop panting, and
There, under your feet,
If you dig a little you'll find
The first bones!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem