in a place that i have not gone
to i plan to sit on one of those
chairs of a roadside cafe and
have my tea and my eyes shall
curry for the sights of all those
strange shapes and listen once
more to those hurrying sounds
in this new place no one knows
me and i do not wish to know
other people's names and the
meaning of their existence.
when i go back to my rented room
alone again i talk to the ceiling
wondering what must have changed
in the house of grief that i have sold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem