the past is skinny
it does not speak much
it goes to church
everyday
it is shy, but it thinks
much better, deeper and
probing like
a scalpel to the
gum and decaying teeth
it is what you only know
and you are surprised
how skin deep things were
until you wake up
and embrace the wonders of
change
the past is buried
it is skinny and dead
you want it
it can never be yours again
you meet a face
it is plump, and alienating
it does not recognize you
it is still hurt
and kept its composure
in indifference
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem