Our hands are always full of flowers
. Or bullets
Thus the leaves of the garden are crunched under our ever passing feet.
Our eyes are not accustomed to see
In the same manner that our hands are accustomed to pick up and fire off.
Likewise the law of the grass is being broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Flower and Bullets... are we seeing beauty in one or the other...or both? Interesting poem with more than one meaning-in my opinion. good write.