the fear of having sown many seeds
is here,
upon a storm, a lonely woman, picks
some of the sprouts, puts them on her
skirt, lifting
and cares for all these
inside her house, trying to figure out
what are all these,
there is only little light from the window
she closes them all day
some drops of rain from a leaking roof
it is something so unnatural
what she does she does for herself
her own curiosity
that has killed thirteen cats
some more may die
these seeds
may not grow leaves anymore
how can anyone so sound have disbelief
that the wild is the true niche?
she believes in pots and her greenhouse
she kills all the insects that visit the frames of her windows
that is my fear
when the world dies because the learned
so many of them
have tamed their hearts
domesticated their wild foxes
murdered the
essence of my earth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem