YOU get attuned to talking to yourself
while sitting on a bench
with coffee held by your left hand
your right hand simply doing nothing
you see the people passing by
like the hours in your
mind
like the hands of the watch
circling
busy, really busy
concentric and arriving at nothing
actually
it is the best that happens
in an afternoon
like this one
the manic days of March
meandering mind
reconnecting
readjusting....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem