coming to this canto of begging
do you know
i enjoy both
your intensity and your sharpness
your secret current flows me
to the pore of the skin of the body
of the puller of a hand-barrow
your cold attracts me
towards the syllabus of
waning moonlight
i do realise now that the stale afternoons
saved in my pocket
stitched so many new muscles
with my vocal chord
and i’m howling in joy…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem