Tides of morning as clean as hope
Sweep the floor of the trite
Silver genius once in awhile
Something new must be inside
White shining garments
Unholy shrines on old horses
I wash in the sea
All political surprises have ended
Land growing miracle freedom
Dead sailors with skulls
Their ships in silent judgment
I know who I am
Shot down in war
Her balm must have anointing oil
The mountain quakes with oracles
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A political surprise....indeed a beautiful poem.Go on writing.