he got neither speed
nor direction, what he got
is truth with him,
that sometimes
like wood on the river
fallen from its
sturdiness
man floats too
and does nothing about
his situation
perhaps fed up or tired
or simply enjoys
it that way
to rely on the universe
its waters and air
to be drifting and
airborne
and then be gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem