it is not a new thing
not a discovery
neither an invention to know
that at the lowest point
of your life
at the ebbing of breaths
you conclude
you write 30
and it is where the word
begins to take life
in so many ways
in so many forms
of wings and twigs
and leaves and
the hushes of the winds,
and you are there
outside the window
of the box
simply watching intently
seeing all these new,
always for the
first time.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem