My voice is low and sober
Without the benign breathe
Of this gentle nous
That led my rod of knowledge
When I toddled in oblivion
Only for you to smile home
Basket full of light
After centuries of sojourn
Your first step was on fire
Cooked by living-deads in your hut
For decades
You lay watching in loneliness
With eyes that could not see
And mouth that only drool
Your bed became a restroom
And soon a tourist
Where all birds perched
Pouring their rythymless tunes
To your drumless ears
Your final wave was hot
But not a cooler one had we
Than the smiles prepared for you
In that place...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem