the time for fame is over, and if we start owning everything
we have denied written over here spread like linen on fields of gray
sand, what have i got? what have you got to be ashamed of, there is
nothing probable, after all, we have nothing to lose, some things
i need, something i must decide to forget,
Nothing. probably, NOTHING,
I HAVE nothing to be afraid of finally,
for i am fine,
into the restlessness of my anonymity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem