He didn’t fly in the wind
Nor was a soldier fighting for wins
He had appetite for nothingness
Forgetting to forget everything said.
Watched the world in shiny haze
Faces moving and lines on them expressing the unsaid
He saw them, felt them
No privacy no freedom.
He had pictures
Impressions of a non existent today
Some were molten memories some faces on old paper.
Maybe they were a big lie today.
Some days repeat themselves
Some have moments craving déjà vu
His were a mix of both
Understated wounds unattended in silence.
He carried pieces of porcelain in his pocket
The one he broke in fury
An occasional outburst but a memorable one
It marked his exit and the beginning of the Nothing Man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem