a cacophony of the sounds of the waves
of the sea
on our counted steps leading to a hut with a single light
from the moon
there we shed off our worn out faces
without eyes we can now sleep soundly
it is the ear that reigns
but when the nightmare of images comes inside the dream
it can be shut off
like an old radio of the ancestral house.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem