So simple so pure
Kosli child.
Not black not white
But I see
In him all light.
He cries
For a little space,
For a lovely word,
He cries
To have a moon-burnt face.
He has a soul, I know,
He has a voice.
That is to be heard,
That is to be take cared,
With his inner rejoice.
Not eager
For name,
For fame.
But he wants to love,
To blossom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem