Blinds closed, yet the sun still finds it's way in
through different degrees of regularity.
Slanting, turning, coming straight on, showering
diagonals and angles on walls and floors interiorly.
Scattering shadows about, no place for them to hide,
as they look wildly about for a way to escape the
sunlight at noon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem