That is where we are
With our self mixed
Meal of phlem and saliva
Ailments and penury
Penury and dearth
Dearth and death
Death and paradise
But our whole lot
Is huddled on the edge
Yearning for a real transition
Some lucky, others unlucky
Those lucky have their garden
Watered for them
They have their palm kernels
Broken for them
A siver spoon in the mouth
The pedestrians too
Walk on the roads
On the edge
Of this paradise
Bare soled,
Bare body
Their hearts rendered
On the picture their faces wear
Looking heavenward
Still frightful of death.
There is a feeling
Of paradise here
As its wind
Unevenly blow
And until we
Know the very place
This is the place I know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem