If the deficiency of the sun,
Shut doors against my horizon,
I thank the spirit that created me
I need not grope to find thee
The zillion miles of your dwelling
Would not interfere with my reach
I would still see with your eyes
I would still walk with your legs
My way out of the desert of gloom
And the sun would envy the bloom
The birds of the air would sing your glory,
The trees of the field would clap hands
At the told of my story
And their roots would yearn for the rock I stand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem