he did not draw the rain
he wrote each drop
with so much art
inside the audio-visual room
where light focused on him
i saw the rain and
felt it
yes, every dropp of it
every coldness
every joy spattering like
i am a roof
a gutter a ground of
pebbles
he never walked much
and stayed
many did not know
that all he waited
was simply
death...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem