Can you wait for the sun to rise
and for the memoried feelings to be ripe?
Can you wait for the morning dew to drizzle
and for the menacing crippling of my muscle?
Can you wait for the life that is uncertain
and for the ornamental mirage of dreams?
Can you wait for the constant change of taste
and for the ingrained mercy from fame?
Can you wait for the eloquence of deception
and for the pre-conditioned intention?
Can you wait for the silence of the wind
and for the topsy-turvy of its anger?
Can you...can you...can you ever wait
Till the bone and flesh are but the sand?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem