He always thought of making a horse
out of something else than wood
a horse that would speak his words
and act as himself, a proper horse
with horse lips and horse legs
that would drink green tea
and write to Helen about
how she deserted him, but a horse
is not a man, it cannot feel
despair like a man, and it reacts
to a kiss like an animal,
running away, so he never made
a horse out of anything else
that didn't burn, for in his eyes
she'd always see regret and it was better,
it was mandatory to get rid of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
...so he never made a horse out of anything else that didn't burn. fantastic line.
:)