Simply not to lose face
in the face of all of you,
how many things I have given up.
Don't distress yourselves about me; to go without
comes naturally to me now, it costs me
almost nothing anymore.
I have let them go for so long,
and so profoundly,
that if you asked me about it I couldn't say
exactly what they were
and if I really wanted them. Their place
inside my head is empty.
Even the sense of missing them
has left no trace.
Only the face remains.
Look at it: it's yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem