i travel a lot
perhaps i am searching for something
i do not really know
as i step on the the stairs of the plane
as i step out as i enter the bus
and have my ride
into nowhere i look at my calendar
in my cell phone
there too many confusing notes
scattering themselves like falling leaves
on a stormy day where murkiness seems to
be the words that float on the river of
time where men approach the day with an
answer of silence where women just smile and
do not give their names when
you face the fading sun and promise it
that soon you will stop and cease and be
another part of the whole picture
inside that living room beside a painting
of a rural landscape holding an iguana
with your ring finger exposed to the danger
of a venomous bite from a snake that hangs itself
in one of those beams on the ceiling
where the light gets short-circuited and ends
wounded along these lines of thoughts
on flimsy contradictory links clinching on
the crossroads of our inconsistencies,
adieu, you, too shall be lost with me,
lucky, you, too shall find the truth, about
this losing, and finding and exiting and becoming
at last free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem