If we could only see the things
we tend to overlook,
not crawl like insects without wings,
our face glued on a book
or TV screen or daily paper,
ignoring living faces,
we'd find out that to love our neighbor
we have to see the spaces
ignored and overlooked by us
where neighbors live and die,
unrecognized, with little fuss,
a famine in the eye.
11/20/97
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem