i like to think that you think that i am not at all serious about memories.
memories are not like seeds
they do not grow anywhere when thrown
memories are selective
for instance in our minds these memories think that they are special
and must be treated in such ways
like an important guest to be fed and pampered
there were memories that i killed
say i am cruel say i am one of those savages in the mountains
killing innocent natives direct to the eye
bull's eye bullshit bull's eye
the man fell straight to the ravine without the benefit of any doubt
at first we shiver but it will only be for that first time
and there is the second
and there is the nth time
and we become numb to ourselves
to our own words we embrace the silence of the
whatever whoever whenever
the who what where and when
there was that woman naked bathing in the river
and there was that monkey
did you hear the sound again? i wish i have no ears
i wish i have no mind at all
what have you made out of me? a doughnut, a black hole, a grass
a cloud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem