It Is Me Who Is Breathing Here
When I feel my life is like
a heap of overturned tables and chairs
in a house somewhere in Checnya,
then I know the moment is critical.
But I also heard that science has advanced nowadays
and figures out even soul problems.
My difficulty is that I cannot find my soul
for very long periods of time.
It is easy for everybody to understand
when I speak about such simple things as the soul,
because it is like when I talk about football or
weather,
or even upon some poems from school books.
I lose and find again
not only something which belongs to me,
so that they know it is me who is breathing here,
but also how much of me has been left.
Yesterday, when a strange person
gave me a map to simplify what I was looking for,
I felt he had smiled at me,
not exactly to me,
but to someone who was behind
and plucked me by the sleeve,
like a child,
impatient to go further.
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