you think it is easy?
no it is not
all the years come rushing
and you choose which to pick
like a flower in those
old fields
it is written
in a few seconds perhaps
but
i tell you and i must tell you
again
the years are too many
the nights are too long
the flowers of evil
are a bunch
a bouquet
in my bed, in my room,
in my patio
i let them rot and dry
and i welcome the winds from all the
corners
it is not easy
it was never easy
keeping them
and dying too
slowly like a lull in the hammock
disconnected from a tree....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ric, such a lovely write👍👍👍