and what did we do?
we simply stand there
and we said we have
nothing to do with it,
we are just the spectators
we write what we see and
we do not judge why all
these things happen
we never arranged the facts
like colors in a painting
we never chose the subject
or the place, they are there
we are in there but we are not
theirs, we do not belong.
we write with our own hands
did we claim that we have our own minds?
we did not. we are just the spectators.
we just record what we see. Our minds
are imprints of before and now. We
try to detach, we cannot. we just feel it.
soon this will be over and we will be
another kind of spectators, rising from
our bodies, like vapors from the heat,
we are not yet the rain. we are unseen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem