There is a certain type of determined desperation
like a disease. So with great pleasure, I send you
this night of thunder. On my way, discovering rain
sounds evil however good for farmers at inopportunistic
moments. When somebody cares enough to grow our food
or poison us. (To send only their very best...)
You know, my grandma used to tell me,
'thunder comes from angels making havoc in heaven'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem