a stone has always been a stone
numb and
silent on the side
of the pond
cool on the top
of clay
it likes it that way
no sadness
no happiness either
today
it ceases to be mindless
to the clouds
that it has long disliked
floaters
and drifters
these clouds
have always
chided his
numbness
the mosses beside
its belly
are dying of
dehydration
rain is needed
for its friends to survive
and so
here is the stone
smiling
and humble and
begging
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem