There is nothing to learn from
poetry
if there is, perhaps nothing much
but one somehow feels that
a certain restlessness is cured
a certain light is seen and then felt
and when you leave a crowded room
heavy with despair
you feel so light like an inflated balloon
and you rise to the sky
and then you see every house, every road
every mountain
and the horse that you want to ride
looks at you like an ant
on that tiny hillside where you want
to escape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem