in the process of
repression
or suppression
of feelings
there is no
difference
the body
gets sick
in the end
the eyes
choose to sleep
in the wrong ours
to diminish
the pain
to look for dreams
as cure
the hands tremble
at the end
how they have
always wanted
to keep in
touch to touch
and be touched
and perspire
and cool
and be warm
and loving
the body gets
crazy the desire
is simply
irresistible
and then the
world turns
topsy-turvy
like a bat
of the night
it relies on sound
not on sight
goes out
of the dark night
now wanting
to sip blood
instead of
the cooling waters
of love
do not blame
me or anybody
they too have
this and that
they too are
sick and dying
broken hearts
and shattered minds
loss of splendor
of soft grasses
flower petals
that wilt and never
for once
ever bloom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem