i have often
believed in all of you
what you have written
amazed me endlessly
the enigma kept
the mysteries buried
underneath the wisdom
of your fragile
spirits
the world listens
attentively
but is not impressed
everything is just
superficial to its
layered wisdom
inside the wombs
of its oceans
you have often focused
on your fingers
where petals are dying
their mortal textures
their redness turning
into cracks of
brown pieces
i am tempted at times
to settle for all these
sweet concealment
spirits of men singing
what this world feels
with all fragile frills
and nod with all admission
that it is true
and yet it must not
be uttered
for fear that we can
be wrong too
for who is so certain
about what we feel?
for what we cannot
really say?
nimble and shivering
along the paths of stone
i keep looking for more
beyond and deep inside
and out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem