like a cloud
i change shapes
cumulus, nimbus,
feathers and cottons
i mirror myself on a pond
and begin to like myself
the reeds look at me
with disdain
and the rocks there
speak ill of me
no matter how beautiful
i am
be it the shape of David
or of Narcissus
always everything i am
what i have
they claim them to be owned by the wind
they say the wind makes me
the wind unmakes me and i am left
with nothing
but just the illusion of a cloud
doubt, i now have them and i am lost
in an island without a name
like a cloud i wander
higher than the cliffs and friend of the sun
the wind claims me and still i am nothing
there is no use for all these
i have loved the wind and learned to live with its daft
i love the wind and its song
its distance and its intimacies with my hues
but with the wind i am nothing i have none
all of them disbelieved my right to be myself
i am wandering and wishing upon the stones
i fall
i am rain i am the water in the gutter
i flow
searching for the place where i can be myself
distinct like a mole on a cheek
there is no wind to claim my shape and color
sad, i am still nothing, as empty as a hand opening
pleading for space and air, i am still nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem