the absurd is not
actually sophisticated,
hand in hand with doubt
both stroll the park
of the obvious: the children
on the boat on the pond,
the mothers beside them,
the trees carrying
leaves with the dignity
of their roots,
the absurd laughs
at these pictures
of man made realities
and doubt smiles
about these illusions
since
what it knows is always
subject to the test
that these things the
following morning
may simply be
shadows
carried by too much
light
in a sense,
like a magician
things in themselves
volunteer for
their disappearances.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem