PERHAPS, i ask myself
again
is it the fact that you
have given importance to yourself that
you begin to fear?
what fear is that? to lose face?
to find yourself at the edge and then it is so light
and the wind from the sea blows it away?
why do you struggle so much about a humanity which can be
erased at any instance?
why do you struggle about a self that can be taken anytime
even for not reason at all?
there is no charge and there will be no trial.
at the next door that closes you will thrown away like
a tenant who has not paid the rent regularly
Perhaps, i ask myself again,
i must not have asked the right questions so i have not obtained
the correct answers.
Perhaps i have valued much someone who has no value at all.
Which can be tossed anywhere anytime. Which has
no specific destination.
Which it stops breathing, and buried, nothing shall be heard about
itself anymore.
Not even history shall remember you. History itself in the final
day, is, too,
nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem