I know that as I huddle in this dingy corner
weeping over spilt honey
some gloat at me
To me life has become
scales from a dry Sahara desert
in a hurricane-fructured evening
I think of running towards the sun
and fear the heat
Grant my heart
soulful melodies
to quench the furnace on my breast
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem