oh how many times shall i speak to you
about the rain
of my youth and now
of my older age
us, in this that the rain always sings
sorrows
how many time have i told you about its many names
in patters
each as unique as an ice crystal
as a child springing from his
mother
it is this rain
that always reminds me of you
it amazes me
how sadly it falls
never rising
how pure it hits and joins
with the
garbage in the canals
perhaps
hoping to convert
what dirt was
into something
new
the sound of moving
the hint of a destination
the scent of another going and
disappearing
today
it is raining again
and i am staying
pondering
whatever memory is it bringing...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem