I remember the nights
I was crying my pain
with a bottle of alcohol for tears.
I remember the nights
of the drugs of Babel
inside the ecstasy of my ancient dreams.
I remember the nights of the pigs,
in the slaughterhouses of my guilty mind,
with a sick wind for an alibi.
I remember the nights saying:
“Wij zeggen mooi niks”*
and me laughing with the irony of their words.
I remember the nights
I was silently watching my blood
stain the vanity of a blade.
I remember…
We are nothing but a probability.
I remember…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, isn't the curse of memory such sweet sorry? Another lovely poem for you.