We’re all cut off the basic thing
Upon which we’re dependent;
And down our skin we feel the sting,
Light is no more radiant.
I lit up two-three candle
And a light then fl ickered on;
I bumped into doorhandles
And all previous pains were gone.
A sound of magic then revives
Those long-forgotten odes;
My hand then writes and works and strives,
Until I fi nd these words.
(Spring 2005.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
cool poem and nice flow. can't wait to read more or ur work. **KoNi**