You read a book
and since there is this bee that hovers on your hair
and for fear of any bite
you stop for a while and insert a book mark on that page
you stand
go to the kitchen and drink you cold glass of water
you just have inserted yourself in that spic and span kitchen
mother's gift to your
lonesome existence
you have a busy day
you look at your calendar
one event is missing
you insert
what you think is important
and was inadvertently
left out
you dress
you admire yourself
you go into the garage
and drive your car
in the city where the crowd lies
traffic, pedestrians like mushrooms
you insert yourself
and be part of the bustle
in the office you enter
you meet a pile of folders
and you insert your
hands to begin what you are
called for
and then back home
it is dark and the lights on the streets begin to flicker
you insert yourself in the darkness
and mix with all those
islands of light
back to your room
this time it will be more lonely
feeling like dumb
because this time and like the other old times
you insert with no one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem