I was ambulating arbitrarily
In a husseling marketplace
Busseling
And
Overflowing
With the scent
Of Mexico
City.
Their English,
Simply
Not.
My Spanish,
Simply,
Poor.
But I feel
At home.
Their words
Mean nothing to me
But I know
Exactly
What
They're doing
And what
They're speaking of.
They're all looking,
Searching,
Needing,
Only to find
A little
Piece
of
Alive
Just like home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely piece... perceptive and full of empathy? You write very maturely Taylor.