One man’s yesterday
is another man’s magic theatre.
He creates the past
he thinks he had
which shows that things weren’t so bad
(or even a little better) .
He stretches and bends time and space
and smooths the contours of each face,
the beautiful and the ugly,
to make or mould or find
a glove which fits more snugly
the deformed fist in his mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Presence cannot attach and grasp - only the ego or person created in the past and continued because presence is not seen. Thank you for the mirror.
Yes. Thank you. Brian