Silence will come over everything
Worlds will go on in their own way
But in me I will cease to be-
There will never be a poem again
And all the words that might have been
Will be not-
The universe will care as much
As if there would be a million poems again-
There will never be a poem again
And Silence like Death will be the only reality-
No poems for evermore
And Silence not even a burden
For a small maker of ironic noises
Whose pain and passion
Mean zero.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem