If words were friendly,
I could exhaust all;
all the papers in the world.
The world needs my thoughts.
If words were friendly,
I would plant my poetry
on every lacuna of the four walls.
the four walls of the world.
Some seeds I conceived
lost words for my pen’s beak
Before I could think clearly,
they went the way of a stillborn baby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem