Quaking, sun-drenched rumors of a quilted heart
Empty out into the mental wounds of anything that takes care.
The screaming nothingness of night is forgotten in a moment,
When the soft spiraled leaves of a blacken tree crush in on themselves.
Breathe in the vibration of a single slanted string,
Broken under a leftover stockpile of gibberish.
Sweet Nonsense! Bless me and fill my mind with something.
Saturate me as if a starving calf feeding on his heavy mother.
When hearing the agony of a nation
Is better than seeing life stopping into silence,
The unwavering rule to give up fulfills itself.
And in the silence, such a cruel notion of universal truth, something takes over.
The vibrations give forth change, survival in putrid stillness.
We bloom. We live. We heal. We dream. We die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem