WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.) Poem by Antjie Krog
WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)
8.
you
the true you
the yes-you
the grass still rustles from your ankles just
now each time I look up
turning away
departing
beloved
astral birdsong wrapped in night
come!
let a word come right through you
let more come than I
more than the undermining mine
the perjuring mine
the endlessly l-ing mine
let us become
unglowing nakedly
unmoved
that which we never
could have become alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:33:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
