time is like the waves
of the sea carrying some season in between
the folds of our consciousness
burying some and then after a while
taking them back to the
shores of our being and we think that there is an end to all these
but the folds come back
recede and go somewhere to another shore
and another shore and another and another
and on the limitations of our
seeing we do not anymore remember but our
hearts still
our mouths no longer speaking
our tongues however
like our noses somehow have the glimpse
of the taste and smell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem