Although it is so beautiful here after the stars begin to shine
I am seasick as if I floated
in the luggage compartment of a ship of fools
where I was hidden by one of the deportees.
My head spins asking on and on when we will crush
against imaginary icebergs.
Sitting on a bench in a park that no one visits
I throw wheat in plenty for the city pigeons
that otherwise eat one another.
I feel important as if I were a peace treaty before being signed.
On my right there’s a shadow that I cannot wipe out,
on my left there is a book forgotten
by the one who fed the pigeons before me.
I drag a mountain behind me
wearing my shoes resoled nine times by inexperienced cobblers.
I almost forgot how I wandered on the narrow streets
in order to see the sun setting down in flames.
As if I waited for another table of commandments
to fall from above and make me kneel.
I am still waiting.