a wheelbarrow
is a mere wheelbarrow
even if it is not
red or glazed
with rain water
it is
what it is
just a wheelbarrow
but look beneath
ourselves in the forest of our wanderings
there are trees there
growing in the dampness of darkness
looking for light
a river comes flooding
that is where
meaning sprouts
upsurging emotions
now without walls coming before your fences
a wheelbarrow
is not the same wheelbarrow anymore
emotions
your emotions made it
for not what it is
transmutation
from William to you and this world
looks not familiar
anymore
petals of meanings
red so real
thorns and stalks and dews
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem