Head in hand, I look at my computer screen;
It is still white.
I look at the keyboard
Cold and dust accumulating.
My soul sleeps.
Will it ever wake?
I walk a little in the pouring of the sun
And pass my hands over the higher flowers.
There is the soft green fields,
There are the bald terrains of the mountains
Visible with landslides, red in the sunlight.
I see the slow march of the clouds,
I hear my dogs barking, and I come back
To sit and look at my my computer screen,
Which is still white
Under my fingertips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
it happens to me all the time my friend...10