the collateral and
peripheries of this world
play truant
like a child on the beach
gets a stick and begins to
scribble whatever
thoughts come to his
mind
the woman sitting under
the coconut tree does not
see how silly it is
how meaningless
she is the mother
what she thinks is only love
of her flesh
and bone of her bone
in my stroll alone early morning
i also understand
once a child once i had
that mother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem