having traveled most
with distances multiplying upon itself like
a replicating virus,
one reaps the fruits of the silences of distances
the
wisdom of the road that is never satisfied upon its length
long longing
for rest
like a baggage that you leave upon the road
asking if somebody
is dishonest to keep it up for good
not revealing
the cruelty of ownership to anyone who comes back and claims
to be the
it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem