I lie on the grass
and watch the wind
carrying birds on its back.
The sky is like the inside
of a fragile blue egg-
a child stuck bits of cotton wool to it.
The sun pricks my legs on top
the grass pricks them beneath.
By lying here I am killing
hundreds
if not thousands
of living things.
Does God feel like this? -
The responsibility of so many lives
of so many deaths.
Should we pity God
whose breath brought us life
whose thought brought us death?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem