A poem was in my head,
and it won't come out,
so I came out 5 o'clock
in the morning.
It was as if coming out
of a laundromat,
freshly squeezed..
out in the road.
This did not make the poem
come out though,
but the open road did in fact,
took me out from an open book.
It was morning and the sunrise
fell on my whole body.
Rinsing me of all the tiredness
of the night.
And the sky was bright
and it was daybreak.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful, good one, go on..