she has that insouciant touch of a corpse
that never putresced with time
she has remained
as a memory remains in the crannies of the brain
says there can be nothing beneath the marble floor
beneath the hot air the cold breath
beneath the basement of death
at the centre of the core
yet she retains
the memory of being beneath my notebooks
in the dark circles and the frowns
in the quietude of the nooks
but no one in the town
ever listens to me
they believe they are tired of the gloomy
evocations that make me break me
i still wish to speak
like the voices underneath the dingy trees
i wish to quiver like the dust beneath my earphones
feel the dryness with my very bones
but the phones won't stop ringing
won't stop clinging to the illusions of connections
they are all broken my toenails my heart
only my trust in her insouciant touch
keeps me alive
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem