Saturday, May 05, 2007

To his father

(after Tu Fu)

The note books have faded to yellow
The rubbers don't listen no more
The ski tracks are blown away and
The TV screen dishevelled
At a dump

The pupils have turned into parents and
The incineration ovens turned cold.
There are no longer a living
Memory of the English classes and
The red pen's orders

The trying steps of friends in dance are forgotten and
The mistress' painted cheek
Changed to dust in the river of eternity.
What remains after the passing
Of centuries? What was me?