In the afternoon
when the clock ticks backwards,
In the room,
I’m walking on my hands.
Write about meaninglessness,
Just be a nice puppet
and react to the strings I pull,
When the sun sets on your wings.
In the afternoon –
Scribbles on a page.
In this big room,
Fall into the river and drift away.
Don’t be afraid to care –
‘Coz your society says to,
Brake from some vice that grips you;
‘Coz your master says to.
Mary X
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
who said that? Pity is not your forte.