how can one really stop writing
when you love
to write when you leave everything suspended
because of the love
of writing
when you are prepared to leave everything you
have
and throw everything in your hands simply because
of this piece
in my mind this idea this thought
has to be written today
immediately
how can one believe that there is nothing to be written
anymore
when what i see are bunches of grapes, those ripe ones
about to fall from the branches
heavy on the vines
when what i see is a cloud heavy with rain
about to fall and burst on the peak of mountains
when what i see
is a tear shaping in your eyes again about to fall
on the slope of your cheeks
or the laughter that you pocket out
the smile hiding somewhere
like a sniper
now wanting to shoot and kill
and you are here
gazing
taking this innocent stroll
my new victim
how insensitive...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem