One day, I will set out with a bag
And traverse that dark blank road, outside...
The road that stretches its uncouth body like a lazy giant,
Waiting between my house and yours.
I will walk upon it one afternoon, slowly with careful steps,
And pick up those trampled dreams, those broken moments,
A couple of half-mumbled promises, some unsent letters,
A few unheard lines, few muted songs,
Those fast-fading memories and my naive poems…
All of which, the road keeps in its belly.
They are mine. I shall collect them,
And lay them all, where they rightly belong…
In that freshly-dug grave,
Right in the bosom of my beautiful garden...
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