In this room
there are shadows of dusk on the estuary,
a boat racing by, a boat racing quickly by.

Sounds of guava branch tips breaking one by one
and a portion of a stale sonnet, remains of last year’s love.

I feel life is always like this.
Wake up yesterday. Wake up and it has passed.
(While tomorrow is still like
last month’s clothing hangging there
on the door nail.)

“Hello, Love so far away. You are still
that one, still like that?”
Perhaps here, in this room,
I will fulfill your guesses.

In the breathless fan,
In the same distorted air,
Or in the spaces of the attic and the echoes of the ceiling
–that are like stalagmite
sucking in the bright light–
the attic that keeps on making space
for moans and horse coughs.

“Hello, Love so far away. Are you like
tomorrow or yesterday?”
I feel finished in this poem. In this room
shadows of a boat racing by, a boat racing quickly by.

Translated by Marijorie Ruth Suanda (Utankayu-Salihara International Literary Biennale 2011)

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