I touched the body of month
-fly ash -
with bent knees
and I beg in peace
mother dangle words in
rocking memories
it takes afternoons
baked in
the deep shadows
digging on cheek
from pencil
started man
building up
cave paintings in
the rocky walls
Water lapped like a the symphony
on the blue violin
collect a rainbow not forget:
I urge all
Late
rains of children
will be transformed
soon
in
birds fog...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem rich with imagery and illustrations... Its nice to see and imagine that while reading