Memories always remember
to segment my soul;
images of past faces,
sentences in the past tense,
meridians of past lives in post mortum odours,
with lungs dipped in zyklon-B,
gas stains on a mandala angel
(an irrelevant truth)
all dismorphing my
personal equation of happiness,
oblivion’s fearful dreams:
Hostis humanis generis
I could accuse my social disobedience
for corrupting my nights;
or maybe my paranoid potential;
too easy!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem