You may bury me alive
in the earth
it wouldn’t bother me.
You may put me
in a narrow casket
it wouldn’t bother me at all
that I couldn’t move my fingers
I would die —
you may bury me alive
deep in the earth
that I couldn’t hear the sobs and sorrow of my friends
I wouldn’t be upset
without pity
without my empty heart
and my sister’s whispers
with no help
alone, it wouldn’t bother me
the whispers of my friends
with no help
my death.
You may bury me alive
it wouldn’t bother me
that I would smell the moist soil
in the earth
it’s always moist, it never gets dry in the earth
the soil is always emotional
I could dig deep in the soil
under this life
under this life
a layer of dead people exists
under our feet our dead sleep
under the foundations of this world
sick bodies rest
tiring thoughts
bleeding heroes
wise old men
under this life
they caress the soil
skeletons of memory
love letters
old pictures
you may bury me alive
it wouldn’t bother me at all
that I couldn’t breath
in the darkness
no problem
under our world
the endless white sea of the cursed people flows
the last efforts for survival spasm
I encourage you to bury me alive
I don’t like much sensationalism
I admit my wish
for a triumphant elation
to exist with truthfulness
beyond the hot asphalt
for a while
so long as I last
so long as I last.