bring that picture back.
a family, where is the child?
there is this void.
you paint a rustic scene of
cows and pasture land.
where is the hay? there is
this void again.
you are fond of making us
all incomplete.
a party without you.
a plate without the food.
a house without a window.
a boat without an anchor.
a sky without clouds.
a frame which has only one side.
an earth without its universe.
and then you are completely
gone yourself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem