i wait and i wait for words
to storm on me.
i just have to wait.
maybe the splendor,
and the flow of words
will come over me,
in waves, or crushing on me.
since waiting becomes a sword,
echoing chores and chords,
and,
i never see a flying elephant bird;
so, i surrender
to the pleasantry of the absurd.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem