in her world her tears
are pearls
her cries are songs
of the beautiful women
her loneliness is a bed
of soft parakeet feathers
the oppression
day by day is a way of life
her hands are the ears
of a rabbit
they have learned to
listen
her lips are tight buds
and had always forgotten
how it is
to bloom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem