i do not look for any reason
why i choose the last trip bound for zamboanga
it is not important
i take the pleasure of seeing nothing along the road
but the darkness and some street lights
some houses keeping the porch flickering
on some constancy
of having light and caution
against evil.
the rest of the few of the passengers here
are all asleep
tired of the day's business
whatever
i could not sleep thinking about this journey
like a bullet looking for its subject
like a tennis ball dissolving into a dark space
soundlessly, everything moves
inside my mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem