when death holds your eye in every look
andto pass the time, you hold the pages of this book
and glance past my verses here and there
knowest you then to whom I dedicate the finest and the fair?
For if your eye, I cannot win today
and give to all, and not a glance my way
then be it the same if they choose to roam
upon this, my body, upon this, my poem
For my words are a way to me
and my soul; distilled sililoqy
and my heart is the rhythm of this rhyme
which verse dothdraw your eye this time?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The symbiosis of writer with words is deep and life giving. Like with the earth, the plant it holds. They are inseparable, As in this poem, so well told. Loved this work, very deeply felt and written.