In love only on still waters
I turned away from my face:
Round in my eyes is a world.
Without the water, I have reflected myself
into this: You. But wrong!
for Reflection, I have neither your shapes
Nor your control
Inexact Copy, how is this so?
The thunders ripen the rain.
And they are ripe.
Then, You are the falling that rippled my pond
shattering my Other into spheres:
A sudden butterfly shooting from the gray garden
turning my head towards a yellow trail of light
From my vain mirror, away
Had my forgotten face in revenge, turned away in return?
Or resumed loving even in unrequited pain?
Only the frogs knew
Which later, when the Great Voice yawned
all dived to bury their warts into the water.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem