you take a walk at
4 a.m. along the empty park
under the old tall trees
of this village
and then you hear the whispers
of Lemuel and Samuel
and those who were said to have
died without carrying their
peace to the other world.
it is a cold morning and the
air is full of the scents of
mahogany trees and
grasses still dressed in their
gowns of dew and mist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem