since there is no electricity
we build fire
from dry leaves, and coconut husks
and palms
and driftwood
we go back to recalling the past again
the boyhood days
just a few of us who think that life
to be lived must be
in every moment
colorful lives, aged, mellowed,
and still not careful with words
one still talks a lot about his women
others merely have a good time laughing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem