Adjusting streaks of light, shining through the blinds of
a window, hoping to hide the interior forms of shadows so
no one can take them into the light of day.
Strongly, keeping all events hidden inside the darkened
caverns and catacombs of yesterday's lives, lost and left
stranded in deserts of midnight storms, letting nothing
escape the domains of their arid dryness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem