things are not what they
ordinarily seem to be,
it will just take time
perhaps even more
for the stone to finally
admit that it
has a window,
that with my
plea
that i need to be inside it
even for a little while
and satisfy my curiosity
about its century old silence
its empty rooms
its feigned hardness and
sealed domain
shall also be finally
granted.
sometimes i ask
why must i bother it too
with my words?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem