Fú 福 (fragments)

I don’t have a name. Inside my pocket I keep some matches

And a memory of a hand with the character fú 福 written upside-down.

The air stinks of sweat, and sweat stinks like fear. I stand in place, at the corner of the path.

Someone is humming a melody. Kill me already, please.

I don’t remember why I took this path again. All the more so I don’t remember why I’m yet again standing at its edge.

(…)

I don’t have a name; I have many names

And each of them sounds alien, and each reflection of my face in the glass

Looks wrong, and each of those reflections

Possesses a different name, doesn’t have a name, is only

An illusory, dissolving memory.

I glance at the shadow that leads me

And its small posture, its trembling figure of a body.

What do you lack in this world? Everything.

I cannot give you this much.

Give me anything. Give me hope. Give me

A name, at the very least.

You’ll reject everything I give you. You’ll throw it

Just like stones from the hill to the very bottom.

It will be soon, I promise.

Someone is humming a melody. Someone is chopping wood. Someone else

Is currently hunting, and maybe even not me and not you.

I don’t have a name. I am not anywhere. On my left

There is a grasshopper hopping with not a worry in the world. On my right

There is someone standing, someone who’s not there.

The wind dissolves memories of old prisons.

Another chapter has ended.

Usually we don’t write commentary under our poems, but I’ll make an exception for this one.

Yes, this is the piece we named ourselves after, the one that was supposed to be the sequel to Wisp. A big chunk of this poem was too personal and raw to share publically, so we decided to only share fragments. This poem was written soon before we realized we were a system – you could say our subconscious knew it was about time to figure some shit out.