Prowling in moonlight,
time beats. Alone I was looted
like the moon. O ballad I will not believe you.
Everything was alright
except something was imperfect. Nobody
was taking a shower under the Niagara.
Of tears. The cascades
of prayers go into oblivion. These
killing days haunt me in dark, when I wake.
A beautiful poem dear poet...loved the lucidity of expression.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
' These killing days.' I think the poem revolves around this phrase. It is the poem that centers the poem. But what it really comes to mean depends on the reading one gives to the poem.