The warrior smiles
upon the cradle
of the newborn child,
whose soul still
smiles at the carnival-
goers double masked in
power and fear.
The healer smiles
upon the cradle
of the infant child
whose dreams
still fly unchained
by the plotted stains.
But the warrior recoils,
in his full blown glory,
into the carnival's shadows
until the moment
in which guilt becomes
his shield, and words
his arrow.
But the healer patiently
waits by the infant's
cradle, standing
sentry by the door
of her original
dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you for sharing the wonderful poem.