On my honour I declare
that I have nothing to do with
myself.
I am not the landlord
of the body where I reside.
These eyes fixed day and night
on strange birds
and fascinated by the beauty of the world
are not the windows of my house.
The place where I am, what I am,
is not my homeland.
I am the son of a child who is not
yet born,
the wild husband of a woman whom I pass through
and who doesn’t belong to me.
A young girl somewhere is still trying
to be my mother.