poem is filled with banal beggars
words of rain and thunder
with seasons of drought
burning with compassion
and warring with the senses
poem wars with cynical reason
while seeking the streets mystics
dream of with such simplicity
the words of poems written
centuries ago reappear in poem
poem sings from closed windows
a music small and destitute sounding
deeply like the ocean through glass
scrutinized line by line for depth
for poem to do what it is not able
from Guitars (2001)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem