Since my day began
I have been searching for the gold
hidden in the chinks
between rocks.
I have been digging
in many places
and ways,
but at the slightest touch
the rocks shift
and my sight is blocked;
my hands are bloody,
and my day is old,
its strength ebbing in the shadows.
At night dreams
drop and lift me,
making and breaking up
the crowds
of which I have dreamt
so many times,
of men and women
and their small affections.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the picture you've drawn in this poem. The picture looks familiar to me. Loved these lines: 'and my day is old, its strength ebbing in the shadows' - and the last stanza in full.