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Surviving The Game
poetry [ ]
tr. Ioana Tirtirau

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by [Snowdon King ]

2009-02-13  |     | 

its hands never tremble
it is slowly passing its scalpel on our faces
like a serial killer in love with its art
only my hands tremble
when I try to shave
I always say to myself
today I have to be more beautiful
perhaps I will meet the sublime
I have been wearing the same clothing
for a lifetime my word
I walk the streets laughing
perhaps I will disappear in this clatter
and time will lose me from sight
yet people turn back to their homes
I am left alone facing the destiny
my hands tremble with love
I am surviving the game where people hide
after each sunset my hands are trembling
a bow to you
who taught me to live by the rule
everything reduces to the one and only clothing
in which I was born I live I die

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