you make my heart boil
like water looking for the bitterness of
tea
the temperature on my head
rises to the
level of the desert and i become
the Bedouin
racing with my black horse
looking for
oasis
there is water around me now
there are sweet dates and grapes within the mighty hold
of my hands
i must be cursed
i am never satisfied
this thirst and hunger
this difference
they are always
insatiable
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem