At 5 in the morning
the bells toll the church
calls everyone to wake up and pray
you cannot just evade
a religious responsibility
upon a loud call
and then the women come out of the house
with their prayer books at hand
rushing to the tiled floors of
religion
when everyone is inside the walls
and when the bells stop tolling
when the windows are still closed
you begin to hear the
birds singing
fifteen minutes later
the early worms are ready for their pecking
and from a distance
you hear another call from nature
the sound of the sea breeze
the choir of the leaves of those
trees lining the old boulevard of
our broken dreams
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem