fear is the other
side of
imagination
a barren land
a monster lives there
feeding on children
and women
the skies are black
light is hurting
a house is on its
ruins
on the other hand
one can always reinvent
wings and hops
and scales and rudders
one can always gather
all the winds
and puff and
bluff to take back
that life in confidences
that heritage
which those who had long
died before us
had long wanted to hand us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem