back to the stable with Vincent
eying for a magical landscape
somewhere in dusty Mexico
on the hands of the desert sands
he is looking for horses
those harsh horses of the black night
he is on his journey
to plant the seeds of his solitude
i am tilling silence too
in the garden of my heart
silence listens to all the forebodings
solitude blooms amidst the skulls of hunger
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem