when you ask me
i always have
those answers
i know how
to invent what is not there
as a kit for my
survival
i ask you
perhaps sometime
when we are
freed from our
syndromes
to dropp all those questions
and leave
them unattended for
a while
like leaves from
our twigs when
we have chosen to be
trees emptied of
our barks
we shall see
skeletons of our
selves
freed from the trappings
of our flesh
from the support of our
bones
for then we shall
have no biases
of the longings of
our minds
liberated from the
shackles of
what we strongly
believe in
and i will tell you again
that i have all the answers
not of my invention anymore
but those handed
to us
by the hands of the sun
by the mouths of the rivers
by the lips of the moon
by the whispers of the stars
o, let the winds be cold
let the nights be lonely
we need all these sometimes
so that we may become
what we must be really are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem