at night the struggle
is evident.
i did not mind it
i have mine too.
all the days the
struggle continue
working like a buffalo
my body has no time for rest
the night becomes a blessing
i sleep soundly.
the weariness of the body
gives the soul its rewards
you stare at those hours
and go inside of your conscience
now the wee hours of the day
have become furies
what is your mission now?
to hover like a bird on a cloud?
it is hard when you have no ground
to set upon your feet
floating is horrible and being
lost to any direction is a terror
of the mind, of the imagination,
settle down, anchor, steady your boat
if possible leave it, let the storm
bury it, and learn the wisdom of the child
sitting upon a stone throwing a stone
amazed by his own ripples....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem