the time comes
when you begin to lose
that belief on yourself
and you give way
you walk alone outside
without any door to open
as everything is spacious
filled with myriad choices
a line of trees, which tree
really? synchronized benches,
all white and heaps of dry
leaves, mothers watching kids,
which lad? lovers kissing on
the grass, and then it rains,
people run for shelter, mothers
taking back their kids,
car windows close, and you
are left alone, remembering
how to dance in the rain,
to be finally unmindful of
the rest and what happens
next, or when the rain stops.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem