If I had not slept
in the dirtiest beds
with the creepiest bugs,
if I had not known
the sharpest hunger,
if I had not been
lonely
as the last mammoth on earth,
if my legs had not shivered with fear,
if I hadn’t been
in a hell
you will never get to know,
if I had not fell
in the deepest pit of love,
if my bones hadn’t been
soaked
and my eyes hadn’t been
dried
and my knees hadn’t been
broken,
if I had just not felt
all there is to feel,
or if I had not adored
all there is to adore,
if I had not been happy
as a million rhododendrons
being stripped of their mist
with a new sunshine
at the very heart of the Himalayas,
if I had not been sad
as a million stray dogs
beaten with a stick
by their formerly
loving, caring owners,
then,
and only then,
my dear, well-meaning fellow human,
I would take your cheap, your clean,
your well-nourished, futile lessons.
(but thank you for the effort, anyway)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem