I sit in the walled
bunker of my mind,
perched on its revolving turret,
looking through its windows, and see
only the friendly, waving trees, and hear
only the breeze in their branches.
The sky is motionless
in its blue chemise.
There's nothing to defend against.
For once, the turret can rest,
the walls can come down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A meditative delight using a wonderful metaphor. Good sometimes to let go of the struggle... love this. Allie xxxx