"April is the harshest month" *
I was born in it
And in it I die
And from it I am resurrected as a poet

It is true that the months have lost their names
And their memory
And they no longer feel their inhabitants
And that I am outside their calculations from the start anyway
And that my foot slipped off its edge
Until I fell into the infinite void
But there is a periodic moment in which my heart explodes
I have continued to call it "April"

•••

It is true that I still sing with the birds
But I see
Shreds and smoke
Everywhere

And I stand in the row of flowers
But I smell the scent of burning hearts
Confusion and blood bleeding from passersby

And I run with the river
But on both banks I hear
Screams and endless questions
And the fallen eyes of people collide with tears

•••

It is true that I am
Cut off from a tree
A mysterious hand uprooted me and threw me
Out of place

But I reformed myself
And I grew
Until I became a large garden
Opening its doors
And waiting for someone to gather the pieces of the shattered heart

But I discovered in the last April
While standing in front of its big door
And looking into the waters
That the garden is invisible
And I am not
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(*) The line is quoted from the beginning of Eliot's famous poem "The Waste Land".