Your whisper cannot ride the louder wind...
Your frown becomes the night,
The owl, high and hidden delights in song
And does not meet your broken eyes.
The tick of night ticks and ticks, ticks
And sleeps. And you, you cry and sing
A quiet tune the gentle night birds do not hear.
Beneath this sheet of night and sweat, you hide
With just your deafening tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem