Grains pounding my roof
My goats bleating in naivete.
I had put the child to sleep.
For an entire lifetime now
It is condemned to pick grains
Out of its ears.
Soon, it's twilight.
The pounding hasn't stopped.
I tend to black out at twilight
When I realize the earth is vast.
People I know
Are rushing for the grains.
They want the grains
to fill footballs with.
I told you,
I black out at twilight
when the sky is being
stripped of birds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem