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Poem

Runa Svetlikova

First Aid for the Innocent

Since you’ve spoken and thrown my words back at me
all I can do is confess that we are no more
than a vague approximation of what we want to be.

And now you read and lose the final claim
to trustfulness I hear myself suggest with care
that reality’s a fluid concept that we

inhabit circular arguments that to speak is to conceive
that words’ nor children’s lives are either right or wrong
but stand alone and that perhaps it’s all just my mistake.

Since you question us each day I’m left no other option
than to surrender: your procreation’s overdone
but that doesn’t mean I’d take it back.

EHBO: eerste hulp bij onschuld

EHBO: eerste hulp bij onschuld

Sinds je spreekt en al mijn woorden naar me terugwerpt
kan ik niet anders dan bekennen dat wij niet meer zijn
dan een vage benadering van wat wij willen zijn.

En nu je leest en het laatste recht op onbevangenheid
kwijtspeelt hoor ik mijzelf voorzichtig suggereren
dat werkelijkheid een vloeibaar begrip is dat wij

in cirkelredeneringen wonen dat spreken baren is
dat woorden of kinderen geen goed of slecht maar eigen
leven leiden en dat ik mij misschien ook nu vergis.

Nu je ons dagelijks in vraag stelt kan ik niet anders
dan bekennen dat je gelijk hebt: dit baren is buitensporig
maar ik neem geen woord terug.
Close

First Aid for the Innocent

Since you’ve spoken and thrown my words back at me
all I can do is confess that we are no more
than a vague approximation of what we want to be.

And now you read and lose the final claim
to trustfulness I hear myself suggest with care
that reality’s a fluid concept that we

inhabit circular arguments that to speak is to conceive
that words’ nor children’s lives are either right or wrong
but stand alone and that perhaps it’s all just my mistake.

Since you question us each day I’m left no other option
than to surrender: your procreation’s overdone
but that doesn’t mean I’d take it back.

First Aid for the Innocent

Since you’ve spoken and thrown my words back at me
all I can do is confess that we are no more
than a vague approximation of what we want to be.

And now you read and lose the final claim
to trustfulness I hear myself suggest with care
that reality’s a fluid concept that we

inhabit circular arguments that to speak is to conceive
that words’ nor children’s lives are either right or wrong
but stand alone and that perhaps it’s all just my mistake.

Since you question us each day I’m left no other option
than to surrender: your procreation’s overdone
but that doesn’t mean I’d take it back.
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