antonio's infection comes
from my own infection, and
so is candice's and
hazelen's infection of the
beautiful mind,
ahh, poetry, the beauty
of each word uttered in silence
each word be it sliding in the
snow and nesting in the
snowflakes
be it in the rustling of the
leaves in the tropical
sun of our islands
be it anywhere, the sound of
each word like a hush from
someone who is far away
and yet so near in the
touch of your sighs
ahh. poetry, the infection
of your sound and
rhythm
filling us softly with clouds
and stars and moon and
sun
upon the loneliness of our
plains and mountains
like a wind, a very cool wind
inside our hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem