what if the road
stops right there?
the wall stops it.
or the abyss.
two choices, we break
the wall,
or hang our bodies
on the abyss, or
we fall right there,
and we refuse to think
that it is the end of
it all, that there is no
end after all, the abyss
which takes us all,
to an eternal fall.
the dead man as you see
cannot feel. so?
who cares? you live
here, breathe as much
as you can. breathe.
breathe. store air and
then release it like the
way you once love
smoking. That feeling
when air is kept and you
are about to burst in
that fullness and then
you finally release it
and feel the
completeness of such
an emptiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem