In my washed-out years
When I oft cheated death,
I dwelled in a land
Where mangoes rained down
Like nymphets
From a cerulean sky
To keep me afloat
Among the turbid waters of life,
Their tangy and nubile flesh
My only meal on those
Long liquid days
When I was convinced
Of immortality’s existence
Somewhere
Near the bottom of my glass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem