so there you are robert
inside your room still writing
the poems that no one cares to read
one time at the party of your mama
someone asks what do you do in life and
you said that you write poems and they
fell silent as though keeping to themselves
that idea that it is not a way to make a living
and that there is no money to it
but you are alone robert and you have no one
and you think that that is the only way for you to live
and they keep on drinking until they are all drunk and
told you finally that you are nobody a no good lazy bone
and a liability to the family and to the clan
and so there you are robert without any regret
still writing the poems that no one reads and that
you keep them to yourself as another fuel
for another living and this you have always thought
for yourself and this they can never understand for
they belong to the world and you didn't.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem