They talk all day
and when it starts to get dark
they lower their voices
to converse with their own shadows
and with the silence.
They are like everybody
—the parakeets—
all day chatter,
and at night bad dreams.
With their gold rings
on their clever faces,
brilliant feathers
and the heart restless
with speech...
They are like everybody,
—the parakeets—
the ones that talk best
have separate cages.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When I was a child, we had many parakeets. Your poem brought back fond memories. Thanks, Alberto Peace