To my birthday
My palms cupped
inside them as in mug
kept earth that was fertile
and the seed of crop
I stood and stood and stood
facing sun.
The time in control
days and nights
months and months
and passed years.
Came up tip
a green on its head a yellow
the skin of the seed,
of crop
and we talked:
"Did you die? "
I questioned
"To which one…? "
they replied as if one…
Every death has a birth
new life lies behind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem