(in answer to Gabeba Baderoon)
I have not been able
to learn to love failure,
and see no truth, find no fulfilment
in almost having, almost succeeding
and keep on trying
until I have success at last
and the wild black-and-white housecat
arches up its back and purrs loving
at my stroking hand reaching out
turns into the most adoring pet
and the pecking black-collard barbet
at the window
is framed clear
where it's eyeing me
becomes part of the aperture,
becomes part of my life,
becomes my early morning wakeup call.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem