i am repeating
what usual things i have done
and will always be doing
there is always a room for
my silence
how i keep it always as a seed
growing
and just that
forever.... a seed
its fruits are nowhere to be
found
it has never even bloomed
a seed in my mind
like cancer
restrained, controlled,
well kept
now this silence
takes its toll at the count of
ten thousand and five hundred
solitudes.
i take my cup
drink the wine and i am praying
that let it not be taken
Thy will be done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem