Why, lowing dove, do you crouch alone
feeding your chant to the ear of night
blending your complaint with diesal drone
freezing your tail in the imminent light
on some chilly wire, when you should be sleeping tight?
Do the sirens of the city keep you awake?
Are you sick? Does a fever wrack your sleep?
Is it that medicine you take?
or have you found no love to hold and keep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem