as you go out your way
for the meantime away from
books and piles of paper on the working table
you leave your mind blank gazing through the door
as you stand to see the trees well lighted by the sun at noon
when silence comes as people go into hiding again
in their nooks refilling their stomachs with food
their souls with nothing for who in these hard
times at noon when heat is fierce
can think of the coolness
of saints and God
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem