when you write
some words
you always have someone in mind
someone that you wonder
because you cannot control her
because she has become
too unpredictable
as she
like a worm grapples with the slowness
of her movements
upon the
indrawn lines of the leaf
seeping time
like tea
soon things happens by themselves
without our knowing
how the cocoon's silence
breaks and
gives way to life
how wings grow from
arms
how minds open like parachutes
of morning glories
along the untrodden paths of
this earth
you decide finally that sitting down
is the best thing to do
watching has become the wisest
philosophical option
things unfold like letters
that we have failed to read
chairs open their plain smoothness
for us to be there
tables are always ready with food
shoes get inside your feet
life becomes a banquet
and all those that it had given life
is always there to serve
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem