Here & Elsewhere

I cannot write I cannot write
when I want to, when I need to.
I mean I cannot write
what must be written
what demands to be written.

Every morning I ask myself : why?
No good, nothing, nothing, nothing.
How long will this go on?
Everyday I wake up and around me
terror earthquake murder fire killing
the newspaper the radio the television
tanks famine death war corruption bombs.

Where am I, me, I mean?
And you?  Where are you?
Torn away. Displaced. Angry.

It’s not that I cannot write
oh yes I can write
anything I want
but it’s this one thing
this one thing I cannot write
this thing that refuses
to let itself be written
to surface out of me.

The horror in the world
the human debacle.

Reading writing speaking
my life has been but that
a life of words 
a pell mell babel of words
a life full of stories
but a life anyway.
I awake here in exile
It’s because of the world
because of history
because of what goes
on in the world
that concerns us
frightens us
dejects us
saddens us

the moment I jump
out of bed there is
this horror in the world
and I cannot write it.

I cannot say which
is my country today
it constantly changes
it’s always the country
that invades me
devastates me
that makes me angry

I remain caught
in this incapacity
to detach myself
from this …. this …

My body seemingly here
but my mind elsewhere
full of sordid images

It’s exhausting to be
where one is not
and not be where one is

While brushing my teeth
I hear the cracked voice in me
whisper:  this is the day
the day of rapprochement
the day of frenetic work
and then….

Where was I last
where was I seen last
where will I be today?