Something in me is stirred
for i can still be unhappy if among
the 99 who are pleased
one is still there
angered by the word that i have
uttered
nevertheless there is still time
to recompense
either that i be silent for a while
face a blank wall
and stare at it with wonder
looking for a leak
for the light to get in
i may go somewhere else
reinvent myself and come back
with the gentleness of wind
come the first day of august
when i have to rethink
what word is proper
what seed to give
to that little bird in pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem