it is not at all bad
rereading himself,
reinventing what they
think, looking back
he folds his hands
behind his back and
begins to dance, to the
music of his ears,
to the delight of his
heart, it is not at all
bad, as time passes the
goodness rises in the
air and he catches it
with his words back again.
each word has meaning
each syllable has a face,
and it was never bad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem