ANY MORNING
I wake up with the impression of having
spent a sleepless night. It's already morning
even though I can still feel the tight insistence
of my eyelids. I return to my sleep shelter.
Nevertheless, I notice jumbled thoughts
on the verge of exploding. I know they're the recent
sign of a strange tattoo that will bother me
all day long. I also know for sure that I
won't be able to go back to sleep. Silence
informs me there are things pending. Things
of no great importance. These rays of bright
and gentle sunlight also let me know.
Why is this September morning so beautiful
when there are drunken remembrances
memory prevents me from sharing? I stretch
my legs over the side of the bed. I put my
feet on the floor while I stare intently
at the strange shape of my bare toes.
I can make out, almost against my will, pieces
of a reality that survived the disaster.
(Poem translated by D. Sam Abrams)
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