All I can say to you
is that life and existence
is nothing more than
all the small print
that you never read, and
all those small creatures
from evolution
I see passing by me
being pulled
under the undertow
having revelations
as they pass
right in front of me
and the horror of that
troubles me
but like always,
I get home
in one piece
as if any of that shi t
mattered
or was any way relevant
all you need
in the long run is a
window far enough
above it all
to observe
the changing
the passing
of the brutal seasons
and
the delicate seasons.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem