Soft hands wrap around a black remote
flickering on a small silver box,
bringing pictures of far off lands life.
He sees them and he knows.
He has felt the sand sliding smoothly beneath feet
heard the snap of bullets dancing,
saw the red pools lying in the streets,
smelt the wretched stench of stained youth.
He watches the box flicker on and he knows.
He has felt ropes pull his heart
while he leaves his world as seasons pass.
He has heard the shrill shrieks of men
crumpled in agony, clinging to light.
He has seen the writings of unfaithful girlfriends
and wives who have faded into black.
He has smelt the perfume drenched letters
that take him back to nights spent under stars.
The box flickers on and he knows.
He trudges through snow and cold that grabs
at his hands on way to packed lecture halls.
Thoughts pour from his mouth like rocks
sliding down a mountain face.
He looks through me
with nose shooting towards the sky
and he tells me that he knows?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.