boast O tired stream
your source is a mountain
your estuary's a life
birds' singing keep you alive
and an ecstatic hawthorn overshadows you...
with love..
flowers, and fruits...
by a boulder softened by your murmur
i spent a part of a day
wished i spent the evening too...
meditating starlets swagerring on your suface
and breaking up on your sleepy eyelids...
and catch fire...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sadly the stream now, is a concrete channel that changed the whole geography of the land, but it's still present in my dreams...and what i try to write as poems...