Lovers
You are free, said the stranger.
Before I arrived there.
Costume. I had a costume on though.
I was curious: what his reaction might be?
He closed his other eyes.
I’ll send an ego instead of you.
Getting softer, I feel it, he feels it too. Hardly moves. He chokes himself inside me.
Now I must live with another dead man.
It’s not even hopeless.
Not vicious.
Serves the absence.
Delivers the unnecessary.
(Translated by Gabor G. Gyukics)
KF is a Hungarian poet (linguist, essayist). Her latest bilingual Indonesian-English poetry book is Racun/Poison 2015, Jakarta.
TheOriginalVanGoghsEarAnthology 
The last two lines left me breathless. Maybe because I egotistically see me reflected (not by you but by the mirror of the poem) in serving absences and delivering the unnecessary.
The emptiness inside us that desires what is not needed and whose hunger feeds our desires and fuels projections.
Your poem touches absences. Our (seeming) connections that costume, mask, choke to fill them.
Thank you.
Dear Michael,
I’m also breathless, I’m stunned. You are really so perceptive of my poem, my poetry, I suppose…
Yes, my poems are full of strangers, absences, spaces, several kinds of emptiness…It it empty, because it is full of emptiness or is it empty, because there is nothing in it…?
Masks, costumes to fill and/or hide these absences, false personalities, generating other false personalities (a process ad infinitum)…Seeming and beeing…How seeming assumes power over being, if there exists such a difference at all…Everything is uncertain…
Overwhelming egos, ego-bursts, that repress me (others) threaten my (others’) being…
Desire is/remains desire just because it cannot be fulfilled…If it is fulfilled it is not a desire any longer…
I rarely meet such a sensitive mind an ears…Thank you so very much…
Thank you for the poetry. I think we vibrate harmonically, sensing the emptiness under surfaces or the depth of surfaces and the surfaces of depth. The way we build sandcastles and the waves / tides / storms wash them back to the essence of sea and sand.
As for the essence of sea; sea — looking for its shore; waves etc., I’ve a poem using just this very imagery. I’m quoting only the first stanza of my poem, because it will be published in an anthology soon:
Open, the sea appeared asleep. / Carrying its waves. / A pulse under the muted winter scene. / Throwing a smile on the beach.