The Rein
About me shouts, shrieks and confrontations,
Inside me endless clusters of floating balloons, images, and relics,
This time of the years are the bewildering marvels,
but if you're looking downwards,
it's the contested land and the territory,
the same replicas of the men and women,
the illogical street signs,
the worms and the fire eating dragons,
your ancestorswith swords in their hand,
fought and empty handed back their weapons,
Words lack sense to unlocked,
Language lack dexterity in interpretations,
Time was always the landlords,
the war mongers, the young lovers,
and the marching soldiers,
The war it never stop for the body,
did it never did anything for hungry earth, the angry people,
the revolving initiations, the funerals,
the passing rites and the changing of the guards,
back room in his empty cabin,
in the open fields,
In the huge fields and hiding trenches,
The man is anything more anything less,
than a fragile chain,
that held the rein,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem