«Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands»
e.e.cummings
Nothing, not even the rain
has such small drops
as the tears that move
inside of the heart.
And the small hands that go up
for the face of the mothers? Nobody
like them has the key
for so small clouds.
Nobody, not even the silence
has such small hands
to open so closed domain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem