Thinking.
Not quite thinking.
More aware of being aware of
Not quite thinking.
Like seeing a sign:
‘Thought ahead’,
And absent-mindedly
Turning off the road
Before being stuck
In a traff-think jam.
Or
Relentlessly rolling
An overweight
Almost Thought
Tantalisingly close
To the top
Of
Sisyphus Hill
With its
Promised perspectives
Clear to
Heaven and Hell,
Only
To feel the failure:
The fallback:
Its faintest echo
Evaporating,
Fading forlornly
Through the misty
Fingers of intangibility
Toward its own, unborn, infinity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem