the fact Ozy is that you are dead
and no one remembers you
what remains of you is the usual sound
of the vast desert
bubbling on too many
consonants
you hint you were once a king
and built the biggest empire
they won't believe you Ozy
it was too remote
and time wraps everything Ozy
like how the spider
wraps and eats what it catches
by its slender
hands
Ozy you're cool.
i mean you are as cold as the snowflake
that lands on my skin
and in an instant melts
just like the rest Ozy,
&
me included
our destination will always be
that name of the
forgotten train station
but who knows if by chance
we reach
the promises destination
that on the other hand there is such thing
as an afterlife
the promises of forevermore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem