i do not wish to write about pain,
an artist has to clean the mess and write instead
about
happiness, but it is not here and what is here instead
insistent and forceful is
pain, but i refuse to give in to its demands to inflict
pain to my words,
i smile,
i offer silence,
i like to hear the falling of the pin
on that carpeted
floor,
i hear it,
i walk away, i dabble in all that the trees are singing
on a rainy day,
i do not wish to write about your pain,
i do not feel it somehow,
i feel mine, but what is the use of recognizing the one that hurts you
and destroys you
for when, until when,
i choose now,
i shall write about a landscape of green grass, where trees are tall and huge, where plains travel infinitely into space
where seas are calm where fish sleeps comfortably on the seaweeds
and corals,
where butterflies flutter like shreds of paper from a building high,
on this stage of denial
i shall dance my mambo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem