there is this man who does not know where to go
his wife left him
and his children had already disregarded him
there is this man who does not know anymore how to live
no one cares
about his baldness, his wrinkled skin, his rambling thought
gnarled, whorled,
his arms do not know what to hold
his soul has no anchor
his mind whirls
his hopes all burned
he is ashed
but not gone
people laugh at him and twist their faces at his back
there is still a place for him in the roof of my empathy
he takes shelter here and on this last threshold his fears
at least, are gone momentarily
we shall touch him and we shall watch how he shall quiver
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem