OUTSIDE the house
the rain pours
heavily,
nothing disturbs
the settings on the table
and on the veranda
fronting the window
is the tree filled with
fruits
you gaze at it
you hear the loud pouring of the rain
inside
the setting is still perfect
now you don't really care
about how the placements
affect you
you feel the slow movement
of the red blood cells in your wrist
the fingers relax
the heart rests upon
the closed door
of the bone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem