He who inhabits me
How odd, to behold myself, sitting here,
And close my eyes, and open them, and glance,
And hear how life crumbles, like a distant, rushing waterfall,
And close my eyes, and open them, and glance!
How very odd, to behold myself sitting here!
To see myself as though a plant that breathes,
And feel inside my chest a caged bird,
And a forceful thrust, pushing thickly through my veins!
How odd to see myself sitting here,
One hand clasping the other,
And touch myself, and smile, and say aloud
My own name, so devoid of meaning!
How odd, how irreparably odd!
The sheer shock silences my horror.
There is a stranger inside me
Who speaks as if I were somebody else.
Nights I cross the Park
Nights I cross the park that I had crossed time back
Only God knows when, and I walk alongside myself
Glancing in each other’s eyes with shared embarrassment
And although our shadows converge in one
What an abyss of suffering and joys
And many an unspeakable thing between you and I.
It is with some respect that I behold myself
No matter how much I pity my old countenance
And yet as we advance deep in the fragrance
Of grass so fresh as though of days gone by
I echo myself with regret, so wasted,
So obscure, already lost, with all hands lost.