This flowing idea of pure love
not our squalid affairs that end
in recrimination, mutual hatred,
damned lies and jealousy;
to be grain, water and yeast,
nourishing food, to unlimited
give unconditional love, clear
as the mountain’s stream;
if I could have a crumb of that
vision it would cleanse, what
has been a luckless love life,
and I will gladly die tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem