there is this tail end
of the wind that tells you
that the journey
was never smooth and easy
there are eddies of the mind
that must finally tell you that
oh well,
not every thing has been alright
that there are no clearer ponds except those that you have not really gone to
oh yes, far pastures are always greener than we think
or that, you never really understand what one had gone through
all those fast flying years
these goddamn quick years that leave us with nothing
but suppressed memories
which still carry the needles in their hands and prick us on those
empty nights
at the height of this upheaval
you still have no right to grasp
what details are there
go somewhere else
and read between the armpits of these lines
there is this Notice on the Wall which tells you
with accuracy (and even warn you about respect)
(i.e. to simply mind your own business, ok?)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem