The day my God would arrive
That day I
would stay awake the entire night
Would kiss his hands holding them tenderly
Would exchange my thoughts
Would stand nude before him
Pushing aside all inhibitions
Would bow deeply and touch his feet
But I know
My God would never come
Because God is no longer in this world
Poverty is like wind
It is like water
In a huge tree
In a huge mountain
The wind of plains...
Poverty is everywhere..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem