at the start you find things with your hand
the baby that grabs whatever and takes it to his mouth
we begin that way
always
then we are fed up with our hands
we begin to take things with our minds
we read and we make the immovable move
we imagine
we stretch our minds that far enough
until we bleed
it is not the usual blood that we see dripping
it is not thick and red at all
it is the dripping of pain
our hands have become failures
our minds are shortcomings
our feet drag and stamp and wanting to go
we look for something that we do not know
we have this premise
when we knock the door shall be opened
when we ask so we shall receive
when we seek soon shall we find
we found something in the flesh
and we feel so disappointed
we try to find something for our soul
and we feel this despair
cramped in the room
we think some more on that premise
seek, seek, and seek
perhaps we shall find......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem