In deafening silence
I was hearing you,
trying to taste and smell
the traces left by you.
Choosing between hope
and despair, I gather
the old coins. There was no
clue to understand the movement of shadows.
Earth is melting into
water. In rapt attention I
watch the footdrop, of placenta.
It will be a stillborn moon.
No honey, no elixir.
In a deadpan approach,
you will not communicate the
death sentence for echoes.
I will not take the side of inevitable.
Let the book start
burning the poems.
As usual a deep and interesting write making the reader consider each line. The jigsaw then comes together and the meaning then becomes clear. Your verses are a continued joy, thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Depositing coins in the slot of the automat John hoped the bowl of groats was well buttered. The boat had already sunk, the holes having been inadvertently filled with a slimy film of worms. No matter, the answer was easy, long before it was hard.