if by chance you read
these lines
(perhaps at the time
when you are not
busy with that bread-and-butter
thing anymore, when you finally
have time to grab a book
and read or when
you look at the glass window
and find a miniature world
down below that
building)
when by chance you
have come across these
words, and you have not
forgotten me,
and you will say, i miss him,
and you read these lines,
i must make you remember
i too have not read the book
which you mailed to me
(you emailed me, that book
costs you a lot of money,
but you spared just the same,
that that book is a book
of fine poetry, and that
i should stop talking about
everything in this world
or that i must focus on some
other life-changing matters
like politics and philosophy,
i should have told you that
i am a jack of all trades and
master of none,
that at this age, i have
learned to love those
trivial matters like
a butterfly wing, a marble,
a pen, a pebble, a drop of water,
or a tear, or a scratch in an arm
or that skin tag on the left shoulder
of my latest find,
and that i am thoroughly
enjoying this
that i am happy with my life
and that
i simply write just for the heck
of it: lots of fun in here
lost in the web of life
and i am not a spider after all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem