You say you do feel very bourgeois and civil
with the big streched out citizen-yard,
the house with its bathrooms and bedrooms,
the gigantic garden that is almost a park
but with your children and all of this
your world is totally empty without me
and I tell you that I do love you profoundly,
that you have got to rest on one day in the week
but that kind of thing you do never get
where your painting, drawing and poetry art goes backwards
and you say that we together and into each other
know that we do really exist in this life
but I feel from the time of the heart attack
as if my whole existence is only measured out.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem