reading a book
writing a poem
talking to you
and listening,
lots of differences
really, one is a monk in orange
walking with his
beggar bowl
lighthearted smile,
one is a god sitting on the throne of his own feet,
others begin to pray,
the other one is
cleansing yourself in a river
and regaining what sanity is left
and the last one
is a window that you open to let sunshine in
touch your hair,
cheeks,
soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem