this is the picture of a snake like
scar on my left leg,
long and crooked, you see, i was then
a hard headed kid and when mother told me
to take my morning bath
instead i climbed a sour tree and
wondered there how is it to fall and
bleed, and indeed i got this long and snake like
wound and due to the loss of so much blood
i lost consciousness
when i woke up
mother was beside me berating my being the
most hard headed kid among her five children
that was the time when i learned the art of
ignorance: to ignore her again and again,
until she died, perhaps believing
that i was
the most impossible kind,
i have no regrets.
I live happily now ignoring
everything: harsh realities are ordinary events,
when someone is killed i just turn my head to the
other side of the street,
or i just close my eyes
and live in another world,
i live, therefore, i ignore.
that is me in Descartes.
and why am i proud of these scars?
it is understandable.
Obvious as they are,
really.They record my
triumphs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem, your have painted your passions well in the poem, well composed with beautiful images, thanks for sharing,