It’s the quotidian actions,
the everyday things,
like taking the extra time
to buy fresh beans
from the local market,
wash them in crystal-clear
spring water, shell them,
slow-cook them with
with herbs that smell
of paradise and green
meadows in summer,
that halt the breakneck
struggle to finish first
before the race
has even begun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem