Wednesday, December 29, 2010


μισῶ μνήμονα συμπóτην

Dump the remains of my past
on the underneath layer of time’s embers.
What has become of them? Don't ask
- I hate the one who remembers.

The street horns hail my child’s wail:
I have been born only recently.
And if by chance I meet an acquaintance,
it seems I got a seizure of déjà-vu.

Joys, I had plenty.
Aches, better not to mention them.
Both I have abandoned entangled,
consigned to the same grave.

Don’t request references.
I don’t hold advice, no offence.
I have no science and no experience:
I just let the way keep up the pace.

I want to let go, move from, feel free
I don’t know how or when or what for.
I want to go, to become, not to be.
I have no hereafter and no before.

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