Library is the home to literary, is now mess
Like seabed
Bubbles the sandy mud; creatures after hunt
It is dark
Library, cemetery to the books and the files
Like shrines
Home of the pilgrimage, is crowded, crowd
Is a mass
Library, this garden for meeting, rendezvous
Like movies
Hand hiding in a hand; lip on lip maybe more
Is a scene
Concentrate if you can. And you can’t if poet
Like spy
He sees eyes, eyebrows. Hears whisper going
Round
They climb or descend; exposing loose or firm
Butt or chest
And you watch secretly showcase of varied size
It is fun
Then your mind and your thought and your pen
Like snake
In desert and making curve on sand those tracks
As if writes
Writes poem
Everything
Short, concise
Ripe, sweet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem