There is no truth
all men can share:
shadows stalk the sun
when it appears
no transcendental beauty
beyond things as they are
no wish-fulfilment stars
in the sun’s harsh glare.
Our doubts we clutch
to ourselves like a threadbare coat
as we listen to that hymn of our uncertainty
which is all the truth and faith that we have got.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem