there is stored force
in your hands running through
your fingers
it is erotic.
there are eight hills below
those sturdy hands
there is tiny circular pond
deprived of water
nearby is a forest with bushes
black and bereft of leaves
pygmy hair
you see a bone but you
rather call it a tree of life
it is so erotic
there are no clouds which are heavy
some drops of rain pour down
there is an explosion inside the mind
it is not yet on the month of July
it is so erotic
it is life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem