you get bored and
feel there is nothing
to life or even death
and this nothing after
a long time of sensing
and feeling it as though
it is your constant
companion finally takes
a shape, a face, a mold,
and it becomes something
and life passes and winks
at you and you feel this
prick, this eureka,
and connections are made,
links and links and
chains of meanings, a
circle, and nothing is
something and something
is nothing and then this
arrival of silence and
then this solid void, this
continuity, this endlessness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem