we are here upon a page of a book
like ears, marking a restful minute since the eyes are aching,
we are in this room of a space filled in the order of words
systematically placed by a careful writer whose reputation is respected by all
his colleagues at the university,
we are wary, aching ears, rough skinned faces,
drooping eyes, lousy hands, hanging feet,
the chairs at the other northeastern part of this room are restless
but cannot speak what they feel
and they cannot be stopped
as they start running towards the balcony jumping into the ground floor
of this very silent nook
the table starts an exhibition of a circus act
tumbles like an acrobat and shouts to the wall and the ceiling that it can fly
like a winged fish that no one has ever seen
the ceiling fan loosens its neck and falls to the ground screaming
the pillow cases escape from their pillows saying it is all over now
the carpet rolls upon itself like a man rolling its sleeves now ready for a fistful of bouts
it is midnight and the light bulbs are blinking like an ambulance
there is an emergency but everyone in the house is asleep
and must not be disturbed
we are afraid we are witness to this unruly behavior of things that should not
move or scream or tumble or run or jump or brag about some imagined wings
we are very silent and the following morning when they all wake up
we keep our mouth shut afraid that they will call us crazy
or if not, paranoid because the whole night we guarded the house
and never for once close our eyes and taste the sweetness of sound sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem