When I go down to the soil,
And the world turns its lights from me,
And they wine and dine as I bear my cross,
Who wants to savour the taste of dust?
Hungry souls reach for the ripening fruits,
Countless souls hoping to lick their lips,
They fail to mind the ancient truth
That the fruits came from the deep.
And the fruit was once a seed
The reasoning of babies,
So common in the world ruled by sight,
The world's newcomers
Would choose the heights over the depths.
The fruits and not the seeds
The seed,
has never been a good meal,
Never a good choice,
Not a good deal,
For the stomach's need,
Or any other need.
Why wait for the seed?
When you hope to feed
On the fruits that are seen,
An answer to the belly's need.
When I rise again,
The seeds will envy me,
The world's light will shine on me.
Wide eyes, watering mouths,
But I know who to feed.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem