for what they have labored
for years
i shall learn in just a second
i am this reader
of every page of their genius
of the many years
of their deaths, i shall live
for more
than what they have thought
i am this listener
of their greatness i am this sponge
of their brains
i am this dry rug absorbing
all their mists
and fog
i am this garden and they are
the humus of my existence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem