I am no stranger to you:
in your simpler love I knew you,
before dark words broke
blood upon your lips and images of smoke
betrayed you to false gods.
I am your shadow that plods,
that can only borrow your faraway
eyes, try to follow, to stay,
and in the rhythms of your blood
hope to be understood.
I am the singer without sight,
the impulse that your image takes
to gather light.
Poet, in your wordless nights
I am close in your despair,
and closer still as the paper morning breaks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem