The roundabout

Life is a roundabout, never stopping if you want to descend,
it catches you in when less expected;
Choose your horse – would it be black, or white,
or do you prefer dapple?
The man in a grey shirt would stand by and watch
how happy kids in coloured dresses
become respectable old men and women with snow-white hair-dressings and glimmering glasses,
whom little children would ask for candies and fairy-tales.
And they all move in the same direction, for those who dare not to are sentenced to death,
so they fall every night from their stags
and are buried in taboo ground.
They may think they have their world,
but, in fact, it’s just another sphere turning round a nucleus,
like the Earth and the Sun.
And their faces are marked
by a false tent of self-elevated wisdom.

Life is a roundabout.
Coming and going, people pay their price and the man in a grey shirt
keeps sitting on his chair, watching how hundreds and hundreds, seated on a wrong horse
imagine themselves
nuclei.

(2005)