My eyes, not seeing you, to all else
go blind.
Is it you, from far off, blinding me?
So many others just look up from their mundane
desks, and see you.
They re blind too, without a clue
of what blindness is.
(Green plants see me, I can t bear
to see them.)
(Ducks, white leaves. The air
of Lisbon.)
(Ships.
[ ] #1394
María A. Soldadeira
The excess, 'ships,' is one way of hoping for love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's the eyes of love which can scrutinize the the influence of heart; nice to read