Often it's a hazy view
a greyness not yet subdued
impressions of shadows, menace
surreal memories and a world
we don't know if it recedes or emerges
Then there is that hope
the sun coming up, the only god
who can shed light and warm our hearts -
and yet is only a prospect,
just rays of possibilities
a disconnected god
who lives its own will
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem