the answers are shy
they have not matured
they always are not
confronting the questions
which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking
for the kill of the innocent
ones
the answers are arrows
with blunt tips
the questions are the black holes
of our universe
who dares to answer all of them
not me
i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street
looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do
to defend the senselessness of
my posture
the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption
i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep
who know?
the answer is nothing but a dream
yes, a dream
something ephemeral
yes, an illusion
something like a mirror
yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem