Lay down your gun, man, it's midnight.
No one can understand anothers' sorrow.
Just don't ever play that number again.
Not everything you see is a mirage.
A broken doughnut gets a dirty dollar.
A crooked prayer, breathed, gathers
A fortune in boomerangs.
Why do you hesitate to wonder?
Shuffle the pages, bow, wipe the cups,
Beat the earth, it could've been elsewise:
A pure heart and a dirty mind
Is not such a bad combination.
Here, man, take what's left
Of the miraculous eraser.
Night, the Wind, Morning,
And in a small valise-the leaves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem