In this
wounded
denuded
valley,
can you discern a spring
with a harbinger sprout through the rocks?
Can you (?)
The breathless river is waiting
for the virgin Mama's lap.
With dewy eyes
doves are on their precarious perches.
Who will bring a pleasant draught
for my query?
Who will declare?
Ah! I descry a tinge of cloud in the distant sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem