Every translation is a small funeral…
Every translation is a small funeral ... Some voices carry too many languages ... none of them home ... The empty pot remembers its own echo ... Broken syntax is the mother tongue of exile ... Questions bloom where answers used to live ... Clarity is a luxury of the unbroken ... The truest stories forget their own endings ... Between movements ... a door closes ... What hasn't been shown weighs more than what has ... Even groundbreaking becomes ground ... eventually
