at a certain point
when all the bananas ripen
together in the
shack, we all remember what
happened.
you cannot have them all
the sweetness is too much
for the taking
and so most of all these
are rotten and wasted and
thrown in the grass where
snakes live,
and then we say, this is paradise
and people wonder
why most of us do not really have
to work hard.
they call us lazy.
well, there is no winter here.
our needs are simple.
and love is a common occurrence
under those
banana trees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem