when lust
begins to hide
behind a door
and takes refuge
in the dusk
or wish somehow
the coming of
light
it slowly transforms
itself
to the contours of
love and
devotion.
it is only
for the meantime
that it is
not accepted that
it pretends to
be just as it is,
lust, lust
as you condemn
it.
once the door is
open
once the sky shows
the promise
of a bright day
or the baby begins
to babble
for a mama or a papa
it become
what it is
or what it must be
love, love,
and nothing but love
in that nook of
silence
it waits for the right
time
to finally bloom
into what it is
or what it used to be
it is still love
which they refuse to
admit....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem