In the bazaar of confusion
he tried to exchange
the pearls of wisdom
with some serenity for his soul.
He had seen much
and the southern sun
scorched the water in his eyes.
Now he wants to sleep a little.
His legs buckled under.
He then hung them up in the shade,
in an abandoned convent.
His hands, too, including the fingers,
he put away in the garden,
where the women selling herbs had shown him.
And his head he implanted in a flower pot.
He wants some serenity for his soul
until he starts budding
from his navel once more.
Translated by Patricia Gatt