A poem is a breakfast for me
in seven courses: an orange, grilled port,
steamed rice, lettuce and onions and tomatoes
a cup of coffee, a slice of forest
cake
but this is still not enough for me
any poem, breakfast or lunch or dinner
can always make me feel hungry
any juice or coffee
always can make me thirsty
God is somehow different
He is neither water or coffee or orange or apple
My thirst shall be quenched
My hunger satisfied in the coming of my own time
and then poetry shall be dead
and then poetry is no longer the breakfast in seven courses
that i am always taking
and then poetry is gone but you know too well that it will be
in another person's heart
ready for another taking in another breakfast
table.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem