at 34 degrees
summer comes here
the roads are fuming
like hot rods
of a machine
it is making flints
with the metal of the shoes
the city people
abandon their small rooms
for a beach in the village
white sands, and cool shades of the
palms
i stay here
writing a poem
like a goldfish
lurking
in an aquarium
it is cool here
in my little world
of silence.
i shut out with
a glass wall
buffered by
a bowl of water
when i speak
it is only me who hears
it.
i bubble
with happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this poem, well done man