just like you i sit on a rock beside the raging waves of the sea
some salty water spattering on the foreskin of my head
turning into crystal under the hot sun of March
i think of the falling leaves from the trees of an old forest
i recall the sound of the hush of their departures so much like
the constant leaving of the waves that come and then go on the shore
there is this drifting so common among us that we are no longer
distinguishing one from the other
all things taking so many similarities and then someone is lost
with no difference
the seagull lonely in its flight towards a distant island
is just like any other seagull singing its lonely song within its feathered body
the man remembering and hearing again the old songs of love broken
shattered pieces of self trying to resemble again an old self
is just any man on the street looking for something he can hold
perhaps for a lifetime, he picks up something and tries to make a difference
a pebble from other pebbles, a cellophane sheet landing on his hand from
the air and looks at it against the sun. Something flimsy and so trivial.
He throws it away and continues walking along the lonely streets at night.
There is no one there. There is nothing there. Something unknown still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem