I have no fricking idea
why I am like that, not this,
if I am wretched or happy,
why I wasn’t born Pakistani,
or why I dislike anise.

I have no fricking idea
where you go or where you come fro,
if to the ski station or the seashore,
shall I answer ‘nope’ or rather ‘yeah’
or why all things are just like… there.

I have no fricking idea
of the road we gotta take,
why Jessamine smells like jasmine,
if there is a beginning with no end,
or why my name is Oscar, not Amin.

I have no fricking idea
if a bit has some memory still,
why we say ‘por favor’ instead of ‘please’,
if it’s therapeutical to smoke hashish,
or the make-up brand then used by ‘Kiss’.

I have no fricking idea
of why I lived that thing I feel,
if it was in March, or maybe…