what i cannot write
is the answer of the riddle of the sphinx
to me.
i know myself.
hence, i know the answer very well.
i cannot even say it.
thinking about it
shakes my being
like an earthquake
to the foundations
of my house.
i cannot say or write it.
because if i will
everything in me crashes
like September 11.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem