In all my books
I made myself
run after you,
smell your footprints
and sprint
forward
blind
tireless
like the dark creature
you made me think I was,
but I always kept
heavy things in my pockets.
I didn't want to get
too carried away.
I knew
I will someday
lose my soul.
I was counting on that.
For I wasn't someone
that bends the rules
and proclaims himself king.
I knew myself
as a fool
and it was the only way
I could win
in this simple world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem