I was born to early for the phlegm of the Earth
and the lances that I brought are to bluntly for this dirt.
However high the heart must be streaming
it s liquid is blood and will keep on bleeding.
If I could talk how I use to rode on the railway of shadows
and witnessed the puff of green diffuzing over meadows
where once was a child, it would be me saying
rather blind, how you should postpone the praying.
And I won t say that for it s to soon, I know,
though this meadow will grow and grow
inside as a kind of torrential,
leaving me to cope with what s essential.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem