I only heard the Nile,
It annexes me with small talk,
As crocodiles deliver their age
And adages are worn with swords
That dwell within the furnace
Of water, water collects.
I saw itself with open arms,
Rejecting the rocky glow,
Residing in unhappiness
When crocodiles flow
And mark their mothers
With paths of the correct.
Water runs along the way of the word,
Founding the ivory and ways
Of another herd that dwells
Within, without them nothing exists.
The ghosts have arrived,
And approach you as the Nile
Is unfortunate and fortunate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem