My mind is full of horses, running blind.
Each one of them young, mad and wild.
All black stallions, elegant and galloping,
Each one of them a poet in the making.
They refuse to be tamed, they refuse to be shamed,
Those idiots are convinced they are Nobel Laureates unnamed.
Sound is panting to keep pace with their ranting,
The earth is shaking to keep pace with their thudding.
All these mad souls perhaps need, is a simple breeze gush
That carries from your cherry lips the sweet note of hush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sweet note of hush. I like it. thanks.