imagine me tonight
alone in my room
writing a letter,
for whom? i still do not know.
but i am sure what is this letter all about.
it is about pure love
it is about a seed that has not grown
because there is no rain
the soil so dry
and the seasons merely pass it by
there is no hand
that carries it, no bird with the willing beak
no opportunity
nothing.
tonight, i shall read this letter
and then i imagine that i have mailed it to someone.
whose name? i still do not know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A real imaginary and thoughtful piece.