The Hunger, Observed from the Topmost Level, a Poem

Translated…

I Recalled, the Winter Evenings, Those Childhood Days of the Dogs, Barking at the Entrance of the Village

You Had Climbed Upward from My Spines, into the Dreams Inside of My Mind Now

And, Followed Along, My Midlife Eyes, a Temporary Hornet’s Nest

From the Views of the Worker Bees, the Crescent Moon Expanded into a Round Balloon

Climbing Higher Upward, Until that Hunger-Filled Dream Became Stuffed, and Exploded, Like a Balloon with Too Much Air Inside

here, are the people, doing the smae things as those ants…

Night Had Come, Don’t You Need to Dream Too, Continually, Climbing Up the Tall Edifices of My Spine

Toward My Window, Through the Cracks on My Kitchen Wall

The Small Cracks, with Dim Light, Severed Up the Gas Stoves’ Burning Flames

You are by the Edge of the Water & the Flames, Working Swiftly, Moving Forward

Touched Your Heads, Your Antennas, Communicated with One Another, Using the Most Primitive, Most Fitting Way of Contact

Your Dreams: to Save Up Enough Food for the Winter

Your Warnings: Before the Onset of the Flood, Manage, to Make a Home on Higher Grounds

At the Corner of My Lanai, Outside My Studies, Where There are Only

The Worker Ants Who Aren’t Afraid of the Hardships Life May Bring

metaphors of the hard-working man today!

A Metaphor for the Life Before My Mid-Life, Those Nests I’d Rented for Myself Temporarily

Those Days, Were Filled with, This Incomplete Sense of Never-Ending Hunger

And Were, Reduced to How After the Quietness of the Nights Set in, Flipping through the Volumes on Evolution, Capitalist Beliefs, along with Many, Many More Great Thinkers

…

…

Passed Through the Ranges, Walked Right by the Edges of the Desk, Touching the Antennas

In the Fatigued Gazes, Changing Your Shifts in the Lamplight

I’d Heard the Clenching of Bodies, Resonating in My Icy, Cold Study

I’d Waited, for One of You to Stand Up and Start Speaking, or Screaming

So I Can, Really Be Awake, in the Eighteen Layers of Hell, at the Midnight Hour of the Eighteenth Floor

And so, this, is just, ANOTHER late night at the office that you’d had to pull in, because you couldn’t finish your workload, and, you saw the group of ants, working hard away, and, the ants became a metaphor for how we’re all, slaving our lives away, day AND night, with NO time to rest, because we are being chased.