Look at the very old wooden floor, as if a painted silence
Tonight It involves me in Its friendship
This is that wooden house where inside any plank
I haven't hide any of my memories
It's my new and just now beloved; yet, in my deep sleep
I felt: How much smell of my childhood
has been preserved in Its soul!
Motherly kindness of this wooden mummy
in her every breath nurtures the days of
Someone's absence; I heard the cry of Its heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This was a bit hard for me to follow, but I feel that it is my poor judgment and not the writing or the poem being bad. Poetry that one does not get completely it is necessary bad poetry. Every reader brings a level of wisdom to the reading.