the boat left at 9: 30 that evening
at the port there was a show of firecrackers
we both watched it
when it stopped he continued talking about the possibility
of this brother's feet being cut off
gangrene, but this brother had chosen death rather losing his feet
death is better than being alive and being unable to wear
a pair of shoes
it is not unique,
or bizarre
or being stupid and hardheaded,
there was one who had never to lose a foot or hand
but then
when he concluded that life is absurd he banged his car against the wall
and killed himself.
mac is a category not by itself but of those
who are brave enough
to call it quits
when essence is no longer essence
the accessory must give way
sometimes i think of it before everything else
the boat sailed the whole night with it hoary sound
letting out grey smoke
into the air
at 6: 30 in the morning it docked
somehow i thank God why with all these weird thoughts
no one
(including myself) jumped over board and then be forever lost
i admit i admire mac, but i am not mac.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem