It is dead! you exclaimed. I feed another fish
with death. I just lost count.
You feed the fish like feeding your own life,
with food, water, joys and sorrows,
and not much love.
These years you watch people dropping off,
relatives, friends, acquaintances...
One after another they met their death; so you grow flowers,
with such craziness, and you raise fish
and your dreams and passion
to feed death, trying to make it burst.
Why death eats anything
and never dies?
As if being far away, I would not
respond to your sad question, neither I would console
your fish. It died
at this autumn morning. I shall not do anything
but enjoy the pleasure of death.
A fish longer lives; we keep ourselves
fresh and alive and share
each minute of the day.
What do you expect me to do
besides feeding death
like you ?
About the author:
Xi Wa, born in Tibet, is a much celebrated poet and
lover of metaphysics. She is the author of the poetry
collection I Send Myself to You in Pieces and six novels.
Her works were translated into English, German, Indian,
Japanese and Korean languages.