987: Who Am I, Without Exile? – Part Three
Poem By Catastrophe KING
Yet, the water still binds me to your name;
And nothing is left of me except you!
Also, nothing is left of you except me. Like,
A stranger is caressing the thigh of a stranger.
O stranger, what will we do with what is left
of the stillness and the brief sleep between two myths?
Nothing carries us: neither path nor water.
Was this the same path from the beginning?
Or did our dreams find a Mongolian horse on a hill
and exchange us for him?
What shall we do? What shall we do without exile?
And, long nights of gazing at the water! ! ? ? ?