Are you biding time
Or do you let the unsaid linger?
I hear the beautiful lies
Spread of the unspoken
And how a coal's ember fizzles
When the last child falls asleep
The storytelling fire cools to a whisper
Until the wind comes, draped and cloaked in neon dream
From a place without season
The birds stay and sing
Year-round, perched on Baruzeiro
Among the ripe fruit that dangles, is left to hang
As sweet, untasted ornaments out of reach
With the forest floor in silent wait
For a world to revolve, such lies,
Gravity, with a word, to awake
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
From a place with out season birds stay and sing, really very nice piece of work shared on the desk.