It is rare when I care,

Except for a woman whose taste I do not see

Except for someone who traces my steps

Except for myself when I see it

I embody things

I delve in them as somebody lost in memory

I come close to the intuition of exodus

-------

 

I have not seen boats adored with light

It brightens the eye

Lights the fronts of the trees - inside there is darkness

I have not embodied except a perfumed gust of wind

And I did not stay in the memory of anyone.

---

 

A great market

 

A great market

It swallows the sound of the scythe

Silence entrenched in the roots

 

The worms do not care about a woman

Who burns her history as she gives birth

O the past, who lit you

That who is coming, you have been lit

With light that does not burn the boats or pollute the hearts?!